


Like The Music That You Play

by lizziebethc



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-27
Updated: 2010-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:17:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizziebethc/pseuds/lizziebethc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kris shows up on Adam's tour, and decides to stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like The Music That You Play

**Author's Note:**

> So Seperis held my hand through this, my first fic. She beta'd and fixed my atrocious grammar and always made me feel like progress was being made. Thanks aren't enough. Shoes might be. Many, many shoes.
> 
> Set during Adam's second tour.
> 
> Kris's song in this story is based on Matt Caplan's Sideways... you should google that.

When Adam gets the phone call, he's in the middle of eating the pasta his trainer has okayed for the tour. There's a strict timeline on concert days -- an eight pm start means hair and makeup at five-thirty and changing at seven. Eating the required amount of carbs for doing a two hour show means doing it in between, precisely at six thirty, and trying not to screw up his makeup by waiting on lipstick and nibbling very carefully. It's a process he prefers to do in his bus, alone, away from anyone he's ever met or camera phones.

When the phone rings, he considers not answering -- except the ringtone is one assigned as a joke but never replaced, even two years later, because comedy will always trump the instinctive wince that _No Boundaries_ brings.

"Kristopher."

"Hey, man. You in pre-show mode?" Kris sound cheerful, happy, as if they'd spoken just yesterday.

"Yeah," he answers, the corner of his mouth curling up despite himself. "You know."

Kris chuckles, low, almost lost beneath the background noise. "I do know. And I'm hungry, and you share. So maybe you should tell your security to let me in."

"Wait, -- you're _here_?" Adam almost drops the phone, aware his voice might have gone up an octave. "What are you -- no, forget it, is Bobby there?"

"Which one is Bobby?" Kris asks, voice filled with amusement and delight, and yeah, he planned this.

Abruptly, Adam wants to see that smile as soon as possible, so he's out of the bus before he even replies, "Don't worry about it. I'll be there in a sec," before hanging up and making his way to where security has set up.

Two minutes later, he striding towards Kris, who's standing in the middle of a dozen people who are doing whatever the fuck they do to make sure he's got a show, predictably with a tiny bag slung over his shoulder and much larger guitar case by his feet. Adam's aware his smile might be too large, but screw it, Kris is smiling just as wide and besides, he's _here_. Kris throws his arms around him immediately, and apparently they don't need to practice to remember how to hug because Kris finds that spot on his collarbone that fits him perfectly and Adam squeezes him tight enough to lift him off his feet. It's been too long, Adam thinks, right before Kris breathes "Man, I missed you something fierce," into his skin of his neck, and the warmth that fills his chest is also familiar.

"I can't believe you're here. I thought you were in Austin." Pulling back slightly, he studies Kris and catalogs the differences since the last time he saw him, what -- three months ago, maybe? Rubbing a thumb under Kris's eye, noting the dusky purple skin there, he mentally sighs. "Austin didn't go well, huh?"

Shrugging, Kris projects a long ago mastered air of suffering at being inspected, still smiling but rolling his eyes. "No, Twitter Stalker, it didn't. Couldn't write one decent song, and Brophy is an ass."

Adam frowns, still moving his thumb on Kris's bruised skin. He's met Aaron Brophy, who's not an ass and who's style is right up Kris's musical alley. "So you ran away?"

"Maybe?" Tucking his hands into the waistband of Adam's jeans, he looks up under his lashes and smiles sweetly, practically batting his eyes. It's an old trick. It usually works. "Can I hang out for a couple of days?"

Laughing, Adam picks up Kris's guitar case in one hand and slides the other to Kris's neck, neatly turning them to walk back towards the bus. "You don't need to charm me, jackass. Of course. Always, you know that."

Shifting his bag to the other shoulder, Kris falls into place like he's done a million times before, putting an arm around Adam's waist and adjusting his stride to longer legs. "You rock," he says contentedly, and Adam wants to know more, but he's already behind schedule and his mind goes back to pre-show mode. Besides, Kris is here for a couple of days. There'll be plenty of time to talk later tonight.

*

There isn't. After the show, when he's still riding high on adrenaline and comes off stage to find Kris practically vibrating in excitement, he knows right away that it's gonna be one of those nights. It's confirmed when Kris is tackled by Monte, who yells "Allen! How much did I kick ass tonight?" and rubs his sweaty head against Kris's face, making Adam laugh out loud even as he hugs whoever is in reach, because they did indeed have an amazing show.

"Ew!" Kris is fighting to get away, laughing. "Fuck, Monte, you're gross. Yes, you kicked ass, now get off of me!" Seemingly satisfied with the confession, Monte puts him down and ruffles his hair. The rest of the band hugs him too, before leaving with an invitation for Kris and Adam to join them on their bus for drinks. Adam knows full well what that means -- drinking until they pass out and Tommy pukes because he doesn't have an off button when he's in this mood. Sometimes when he ends up holding back Tommy's hair and giggling, he reminds himself that touring is college experience he never had.

"So I really want to hug you right now because you were incredible, but it looks dangerous." Kris eyes the spikes that cover most of the jacket warily, bouncing on his toes.

"I'm gross, too," he warns him, but when he slides the jacket off, letting it dangle in one hand because he's not going to toss couture on the floor for anyone, Kris launches into arms anyway.

"Don't care," Kris says, muffled by the collar of his shirt. "You were amazing. I can't believe that you've gotten _better_."

That actually means a lot coming from Kris, who's never once lied to him about music. "Thanks, baby." When he lets go, there's a streak of green on Kris's cheek, who wipes it off on a sleeve with a grimace. So Adam grabs his face and gives him a loud smacking kiss on the forehead, intentionally getting as much lip gloss on him as possible and then placing another kiss on the nose that's wrinkled up adorably. "Oh, my god, I need a shower so bad," he sighs, pulling Kris after him as they make their way through the maze of concrete hallways and crew members who are already pulling up the set. Goodbye, Seattle, he thinks as Kris talks a mile a minute about the new arrangements. They'll wake up in another country tomorrow morning, spending most of the night here and driving the short distance to Vancouver early. It never gets less weird, or less awesome.

*

By the time they leave the band's bus and stumble back onto Adam's it's after two and even though he knows he probably shouldn't, Adam still goes straight to the mini fridge to pull out the Kettle One bottle and orange juice. Holding up two cups in question, he acknowledges Kris's nod and quickly mixes screwdrivers. "Your tolerance is up," he notes, grabbing the drinks and starting the walk to the back.

"What is it you said to me when I moved to L.A.? That I'd be off beer in six months?"

Adam winces, sliding to the floor and leaning his back against the bed, handing a drink to Kris, who picks the spot next to him. "When I said that, I might have been performing my leading role in City Boy, Country Mouse."

"Well, duh." Kris turns his head to smile at him, a loose grin that means tolerance or not, this night is almost over. "I just played my part, too. Besides, you were almost always right."

"Not about the coke, I hope."

That gets him a giggle. "The first time someone offered it to me, I seriously made them repeat the question. Katy and I went to some club to see Alvie -- you remember him, from the thing? They sat us in the VIP section, of course," eye roll, "and this guy just pulls it out and asks if we want a bump. I was like," and his voice goes up to a squeak, " 'did you just offer us coke?!'"

Adam laughs, picturing it. "What did you do?"

"Ran, pretty much. We saw the rest of the show from down front. It was nice."

Being in the middle of a club without being bothered. It sounds nice, and Adam can remember a time when he used to want people to see him all the time, when that was pretty much the life goal. He loves where his is now, and he really loves fame and not having to scrounge twenty bucks for a cover charge, but sometimes he misses attention seeking that won't land him on a google search. Shaking off the thought, he instead thinks about what how many hours he has until he's back on the clock. "I probably have some extra sweats somewhere. You can toss your stuff in the laundry."

"Thanks, man. These jeans are pretty much done, I've been wearing them for two days." Kris drinks deeply, emptying his cup and putting it to the side. "When do they do laundry around here, anyway? I only bought, like, three things."

"You're such a stereotype," he admonishes, trying to remember the last time he came back to the bus to a stack of clean clothes placed neatly on the bed. Maybe a couple of days ago? "I don't know," he finally answers, shrugging. "I'll ask someone about it tomorrow."

Kris slides to the floor, laying on his stomach and smiling. "The life of rock stars," he says, closing his eyes. "Groupies and buses and not knowing who does your laundry."

Maybe it's because he's reached that point in drinking where maudlin is an apt adjective, but that sounds as if Kris is accusing him of something. "I know who does my laundry," he says, and it comes out defensive.

"Oh, really?" Prying his eyes open, Kris grins, either not noticing or not caring about Adam's sudden switch in mood. "So who exactly does your laundry, rock star?"

There's a chance he might know the answer. Stalling, he tips his glass to finish his drink, trying to remember when the last time he saw an actual human grab the laundry bag from the bus. When he does remember, he can't help but groan. "You're so gonna use this against me." He sighs, but it's funny, so - "My Mom visited when we were in San Francisco."

Kris bursts into laughter, loud and sudden, rolling onto his back and clutching his stomach. Adam can't stop himself from laughing along with him, embarrassment warring with happiness that he had made Kris lose it completely. "I'm not saying she actually did the laundry! She probably gave it to someone!"

"No, no, seriously, I get it," Kris gasps, grabbing at his knees to pull them to his chest. "Your Mom took your dirty socks and underwear and handed them to someone on payroll. Do you get how ridiculous this all is? We have employees. We. Have. _Staff._ "

Adam stretches his legs out, grinning. "Yes, indeed. We have many people who work for us. Accountants. And business managers."

Groaning theatrically, Kris covers his face with his hands. "God, I just wanted to make a living playing music. I didn't want employees and accountants and a publicist and a makeup artist-"

"Speak for yourself," Adam murmurs.

"-and _merchandising_. There are teen aged girls who, at this very moment, are sleeping on my face."

And wasn't that a thought. Fumbling for his phone, Adam types a note to send someone on a shopping trip to the nearest Wal-Mart.

Rolling over, Kris lands close enough to be able to rest his head against Adam's thigh, which he does. It's automatic, but Adam doesn't resist running his fingers through the slightly too long hair. "Baby, only you could go through the AI play dough fun factory and still be idealistic about this industry."

Kris lets out another choked laugh, rubbing his face against the denim clad leg. "No, no, I get it. I've always known. I'm just such a fucking narcissist I thought I could be different."

"Hey," Adam protests, making a fist and tugging Kris's head back, "I'm the fucking narcissist in this relationship, and don't you forget it."

"Don't be so sure about that." Kris leans into the hair pull, and isn't _that_ interesting. "County mouse had an educational year in the big city."

"Meaning?" he asks, careful not to change his tone.

"Nothing. Was a long year, is all." Giving in to the unspoken plea, Adam relaxes his hold to slide a hand down to Kris's neck, kneading. Immediately, he hears an appreciative sigh as Kris and settles back down on his thigh, murmuring. "Don't stop doing that."

"That's not an option." But it becomes good idea when after a few minutes of contended silence he realizes Kris is falling asleep. "C'mon. Bedtime for idols."

"M'comfy," Kris protests, but he gets up willingly enough to kick off shoes and strip off his shirt, falling into the bed and claiming a pillow. Adam looks longingly at the bed before forcing himself to go to the bathroom. Automatically, he washes his face and puts his jewelry back into the right boxes because a tour bus is a dangerous place to lose something as small as a ring -- it's a lesson you only need to learn once. Turning off the light, he debates for a second before stripping to his boxer briefs and sliding into the bed beside Kris, who's out for the count.

They've shared sleeping space before, more than once, in hotel rooms and buses and couches when it seemed like they were the only two who understood what it was like to be truly tired. Especially back at the mansion, when Kris was determined to prove that he had no problem with Adam's sexual orientation, but this already feels different than before. The wedding ring kept him honest, Adam admits to himself in the dark, but with that gone he's overly aware that the only thing keeping them a firm body distance apart are self imposed boundaries.

*

When he finally asks, they're sitting in a highly recommended hole in the wall in Vancouver's Chinatown, eating way too much because this is possibly the best Chinese food he's ever tasted in his life. "So what's going on?" he says, grabbing the last dumpling with no guilt whatsoever. He had managed to actually wake up and jog while Kris was still snoring and drooling next to him. He knows he should feel some sort of healthy pride at that, but mostly he feels a little tired and deserving of fried food.

Kris watches the dumpling disappear enviously. "Nothing," he answers, shrugging, and then laughs self depreciatingly. "And I mean that sincerely -- nothing. The album is nowhere, man."

"It's only been a few months."

Kris stares at him disbelievingly before leaning forward. "You know better, don't do that. I get enough of that bullshit from other people," he adds bitterly, and slumps back into his chair, grabbing his coke, taking a long drag and looking anywhere but at Adam.

He feels momentarily ashamed, because does know better. Kris had started working on the album after Christmas, and six months later was obviously no closer to finishing. "Sorry, I'm an idiot. What's Jive saying?"

"Publicly? 'Take as long as you need, divorce is hard, we understand'," Kris takes a breath. "And behind the scenes they say something different. Mostly stuff about my contract and how if I can't write they have plenty of people who will do it for me."

Wincing, Adam makes an encouraging sound and eats more noodles. Kris is stubborn, yes, and if he doesn't want to talk he just _won't_, but if you get him started, sometimes there's a word avalanche.

"I'm not going to do it," Kris concludes grimly, crossing his arms and glaring as if Adam is a record executive with a stack of sheet music. "I'll write the album, and this time I'm writing all of it. My lawyers are taking care of making them back off, so I've got time."

"You don't have to convince _me_," Adam says, raising his hands. "I believe you, you can stop looking as if I'm burning plaid, okay?" The hard edge slides off Kris's face almost immediately, and he pretends not to notice when Kris steals his spring roll.

They eat in silence for a minute, before Adam casually asks, "Have you spoken to Katy lately?"

"No. Have you?" Kris sounds amused and more than a little sarcastic. Yeah, maybe trying to act as if any discussion about Katy was casual is stupid. Rolling his eyes, he gestures with a chopstick for Kris to keep talking, who presses his lips together for a second before sighing. "It's not like you and Brad, you know? We're not going to be friends."

"Why not?" Adam really wants to know, because one thing about watching Kris and Katy together was that they always seemed like they genuinely adored each other _as people_, and trying to picture them as bitter divorcees is just wrong on a fundamental level. There's obviously something he's missing, and this bothers him more than he wants to admit. "I don't get it, baby. I mean, I think I've been pretty generous with giving you room about this. I've given you, like, Wyoming levels of space, but this is getting ridiculous. What the fuck happened?"

"We drifted apart. It was a mutual decision. The industry took its toll." Kris rattles off the list blithely, and yeah, Adam hadn't believed the press release the first time he read it, let alone when he finally got back to in L.A. in April for a one week break, with Kris still looking shell shocked and too thin and unable to write. And Adam had taken one look at the situation and decided not to ask. This had seemed smart at the time, but now, not so much.

"You know better, don't do that," he echoes mockingly, because he's told Kris _everything_ about his relationships, even the stuff that makes him sound selfish and terrible, and yeah, it hurts that Kris won't do the same.

"Adam," Kris says in a small voice, playing with a chopstick. "Can we just.... Look, I'm not in denial. I've talked to people about this, I have a therapist who takes phone sessions. I don't want to waste our time together on the sad stuff, okay?"

And there it is, the flash of guilt he gets every time a friend mentions in passing how little time there is anymore. "You're using me," he says finally, knowing that just by saying it, he's basically giving Kris permission to keep doing so.

Kris smiles, clearly relieved. "Thanks, man," he replies, and is so utterly sincere about it that Adam just lets it go.

*

Two nights in Vancouver, which means hotel _thank the tour Gods_, and Kris moves in with him without either of them talking about it. It's easy, they already know how to share space; Kris will adjust the temperature of the shower down before getting in because Adam always takes the first one and prefers it hotter. And Adam calls ahead to have extra Cokes put in the mini bar, because Kris can go through about five a day without blinking. He also takes ninety percent of the counter space in the bathroom but makes sure that there's Colgate in there too, because Kris insists that's the only toothpaste that tastes right.

They go out both nights with everyone, first to a rooftop bar because it's small enough that Adam can sign autographs and take pictures with mostly everyone who approaches, yet still have time to enjoy himself. He finds he minds doing the obligatory fan thing less when Kris is beside him doing the same, and Tommy gets his fair share of requests now too, which still seems to shock him every time. The next night they go to a burlesque show that involves a contortionist who wears nothing but a body stocking and a mask and twists high above their heads to music that sounds vaguely Bollywood. It's brilliant and gives Adam ideas about harnesses for the next tour, and next to him, Kris laughs and shakes his head affectionately as if he knows exactly what Adam is thinking.

Hotels also mean that significant others fly in, so it's a good night, a great one really, with the entire family together and Kris tight against his side in the booth, Adam's arm stretched behind him like it's no big deal. Certainly nobody even blinks twice, but they're all used to the way Kris and he touch pretty much constantly, so he gives in to an urge and lets his hand rest on Kris's neck, stroking gently with a thumb. Kris doesn't stop his debate with Monte, something about horror movies, he just leans back towards the touch and puts his hand on Adam's leg, right above the knee, squeezing once and resting it there.

When the show is over and the waitress comes back to ask them if they want another round, Kris tilts his head back and says quietly, "Ready to go home?" And he is, actually, he's mellow and buzzed and they have to leave at eight the next morning. So he agrees, and there's the usual wait while he pays the bill and then there are the four people who have to slide out of the booth so he and Kris can get out, and then the second round of good nights which always strikes him as ridiculous because hello, they just did that.

He and Kris get into the car without incident, only a couple of photographers waiting out front who actually manage not to say anything insulting, and once they're inside Kris snuggles back into him without hesitation and closes his eyes. As they glide through the quiet streets, Adam watches the buildings pass by, trying to memorize feeling this content.

*

They fly to Phoenix the next day. Kris's ticket is supplied without commentary from his touring manager, Pamela, who just asks if she should add Kris to the next set of flights they have to take from Vegas to St. Louis. He fumbles the answer and she says "Whatever, let me know," and hangs up. Pamela's kind of a bitch actually, but she can produce anything he wants seemingly out of thin air, so she's also kind of awesome. When tells Kris about it later, finding him outside at a table near catering and goofing around on his guitar with Monte, Kris gets a sudden interest in tightening strings and says, "I've got time. St. Louis has really good barbeque."

He's relieved, he realizes, and really fucking happy all of a sudden. "You're going to need some more clothes," he points out. Kris is currently wearing a pair of Tommy's jeans and a Clash t-shirt from Adam's luggage, and it's cute, but definitely not cute enough to live in.

Kris grins, playing a chord and nodding with satisfaction at the sound. "That's what I have you for," he replies, seemingly unconcerned. "What do you think of this?" And he starts to play a melody line that's new, so Adam sits down next to him and listens.

*

"I don't want to."

"There are, like, five security guys waiting outside that had to hire so we could do this without injury, so yes, this is happening."

Crossing his arms, Kris lifts his chin to glare at the direction of the vanity. "I'm not going."

Raising one eyebrow, Adam doesn't pause in the careful application of eyeliner. "You bet your sweet Southern ass you're going. And you want to know why?" He lets the moment stretch on purpose, just to increase the impact of the rhetorical bomb he's about to drop. Dabbing a little color on his bottom lip, he pulls back to both measure the effect and to capture Kris's eyes in the mirror. "One word, baby. Huckabee."

Kris actually gasps, hilarious on a whole other level, besides which -- he just won the argument. Poking through the open box of rings on the counter, Adam considers his choices. "Do you not remember Huckabee? Wasn't he your Governor at some point?"

Gathering himself again, Kris leaps on this logic. "Yes! Yes, exactly, he was my Governor, I was invited-"

"Oh, come on, Baby, he wasn't even in office when you debased yourself --"

"Oh, c'mon-"

"And what's worse," Adam interjects, settling on a ridiculously large yellow cocktail ring that is most certainly not daywear, "is that you not only debased yourself by going on the fucking Fox Network to have your little Christian conservative hoot n' nanny-"

Kris is adorably horrified at the word choice. "My _what?_!"

"But then you had to go and debase the Beatles. You sang a song written by _Paul McCartney_ on Fox News with a guy who thinks my very existence is somehow a threat to America. Not to mention, he also thinks I'm going to hell. Literally." Turning around to face Kris head on, Adam grips the counter behind him to give Kris a look of utter disbelief. "You cannot tell me that you thought I would let this pass unspoken forever. I've been saving it."

Kris rolls his eyes for a second before throwing his hands up in the air. "Fine. You win. I'll go shopping."

"As I said, your extremely sweet Southern ass, yada yada yada." Kris is refusing to meets eyes, though, shoving hands in his pockets and looking more than embarrassed, which makes Adam feel bad for a second before he remembers again - Huckabee. It was not fun seeing that pop up in his google alerts, and it had come on an especially bad morning involving a threat that 19E hadn't managed to filter out before it gotten to the pile of fan mail that his Mom opens. He had never been especially political before, but it was hard not to be when your own mother had to read what God fearing people want to do about and to her faggot son.

"My pastor was the one that brought it up, okay."

Adam narrows his eyes against this new information, delivered quietly to the floor and maybe he shouldn't have saved this after all. "And why would your pastor be involved with your bookings?" he asks softly, getting a sneaky suspicion he's about to receive yet another unwanted lesson in Christian values.

"I had already had Anna turn them down once." Kris's lips tighten before he continues, clearly not enjoying the memory. "Then Huckabee himself called my pastor, and my pastor called my parents. Politics and religion are pretty much a twofer in the South."

Adam lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. Oh. _Oh. _"That... well, that pretty much sucks." Pushing off the counter, he walks easily over to Kris to rubs his thumb along a captured lower lip, forcing him to stop biting it. "You sounded good, if that helps."

"It doesn't. I can't even believe that you watched it. You never said." Kris's hands are suddenly out of pockets and settled low on his Adam's hips, and it's distracting enough that Adam is forced to remind himself that it's not polite to take advantage of a straight boy's emotional pain over being manipulated by his religious leader. Not polite at all. "I mean, it just really pisses me off that he's such a nice guy, you know?"

It's possible he might have missed something while analyzing the feel of guitar calluses. "Hmm?"

Kris's eyes get hard for a second, in a way that's unfamiliar. "Huckabee. He's a really nice guy. He's funny, and he loves music. And all that does is make it okay that he's a bigot. It's dangerous, and it pisses me off."

Now Adam can't help it, he has to smile and bend down to press a kiss against Kris's temple. "If we're going to have a long, drawn out discussion about how to reconcile Christianity with homosexuality, the moral responsibilities of rock stars, and Mike fucking Huckabee, I'm going to need a latte. And possibly a carb of some kind. Oh...a _mall pretzel_."

"I just don't want you to think that I-"

"Okay, stop talking now." Adam almost wants to laugh, as if he would ever -- "Baby. I have never, for one second, thought that you -."

"Yeah, okay." Kris nods, looking up under thick lashes. "I'm still sorry. I know it hurt you."

"It's okay." Which is finally the truth all this time later, and it feels perfectly natural to bend his head down and press his lips against Kris's, brief, but firm, letting it be a kiss and not a joke for once. And maybe Kris gets the difference, because his response is to let his eyes close and press back. It's one of those moments you know right away that you're gonna pay for, and Adam has had too many of those to not memorize the kiss for careful replay later, after it all goes to shit. He manages to pull back before his tongue can join in on the fun, and to smile at the look on his friend's face. It's strangely thoughtful, and calm, as if they hadn't just crossed the line they had ever so carefully set back on that first tour. Maybe earlier.

"We should go shopping now," Adam says slowly, thinking about how long they've been in here and who is waiting for them outside. "We only have a couple of hours, and I want to buy you something that doesn't make me think of a twelve year old due for a growth spurt."

Kris rolls his eyes before taking a step back to grab his sunglasses, and Adam considers a hat before remembering that there's no way to achieve incognito when the two of them are together, so there's also no point in hat hair. So instead it's his favorite Dior sunglasses that cover half his face -- all the better to ignore camera phones -- before heading to front of the bus.

A hand reaches out grabs his wrist, and Adam turns to see a playful glint in Kris's eye that hasn't been there in a while, and it's such a relief to see it again and then another arm hooks around Adam's neck and tugs, and suddenly he's in his second real kiss with his best friend and there is a crystal moment of clarity where Adam realizes _oh I'm so fucked oh fuck fuck fuck_. Kris swipes his tongue across Adam's lips carefully before he pulls back. "I'm ready now. Let's go."

*

They've avoided press for the most part, and when Adam does his almost daily interviews with local media he answers questions about Kris's presence on the tour with a cheerful, canned response of how great it is to have a friend along. He does his best to ignore the pictures online, Kris and he walking out of bars, a fuzzy camera phone shot of Kris in the wings during the show in Phoenix, and a truly heinous shot of Kris carrying multiple shopping bags out of a Nordstrom, with Adam in front and on his cell phone making it appear as if Kris is his manservant or something. It's a little harder to ignore Brad.

"What the fuck is happening out there?" Brad says, by way of hello, sounding absolutely as if he's prepared to laugh, and quite a bit.

Adam groans. It was only a matter of time, he knows, but he was still hoping to avoid this for a while. Like, years. Rubbing a hand over his face, he tries to shake off the last of his nap. "Hello, Bradley," he answers pointedly, rolling over to look out at the Las Vegas skyline from the window of the suite.

"What, is he there or something?"

"No. He's talking to his mother in the living room." He had first woken up at the sound of Kris saying "Hey, Mama, hold on a sec," and sliding out of bed.

"Okay, then," Brad says in his best 'tell me everything' voice, and Adam can picture him curled up in the corner of that chaise he keeps on the balcony. It's a pretty thought, one that makes him smile. "Dish. The pictures that came out this morning are fascinating, by the way."

"My laptop is still on the bus," he answers. Covering his eyes with one arm, he forces himself to exhale. "Go ahead, tell me."

"_Well_. There you boys are, in the middle of about a bazillion paps, trying to get into the hotel. You've got your hand on his neck, very protective. It's sweet."

"That was about three hours ago," Adam says dryly. "I remember."

"God, I love the internet age," Brad sighs. "But that's not nearly as sweet as the fact that he's got his hand on your ass."

Wait, what? "Hold on, let me pull it up on my iPhone. What site are you on?"

"I've emailed you the links," and he sounds positively gleeful. "They've blown up the shot and everything, it's really helpful. There are _arrows_."

Of course there are. Clicking through quickly, he finds shot in question, and there it is, helpful arrows and all pointing at Kris's hand gripping Adam's belt and fingertips grazing the top of Adam's ass.

"So are you fucking him yet?"

"No." But he can't quite bring himself to lie to Brad completely, so he gives in without a struggle. "I think it's going there. It's...complicated," he concludes helplessly, and God, he sounds pathetic. But he has no idea what to say, really, especially after spending most of the night making out with Kris on the bus.

Neither had mentioned their pre-shopping kiss during the day, but the moment Adam had shut off the light to slide into bed beside Kris that night, the tension was thick with it, both of them lying silent and awake until Adam suddenly felt a tentative hand on his upper arm and heard a whispered "Can we?" He had rolled over instantly, kissing Kris the way he had wanted to for years, ever since he had walked into a crowded, generic room in Hollywood and spotted the adorably nervous stranger leaning against a wall and trying to look cool. They had shared long, sweet kisses paired with roaming hands that by some unspoken rule never ventured below the waist, a ninth grade make-out session where you didn't have a private place to fuck or the confidence to try it anyway. Innocent enough, even when they eventually fell asleep tangled up together with Kris's lips resting on his pulse.

"Hmmm." And Brad knows him, knows more about his relationship with Kris than anyone, so it comes as no shock when the voice on the phone turns abruptly kind. "You know this might be a very bad idea, right?"

Yes. Absolutely. "He's not taken anymore," he argues instead. "It's not like I'm doing anything _wrong_."

"Oh, honey, you're, like, totally gone already. This is why we have rules about straight boys."

Brad is just radiating concern, and all of a sudden Adam is blinking back tears. He misses home sharply for a second, misses Brad and the rest of the crew and God, and when was the last time he had called _his_ mother? "I know," he says thickly. "It's really fucked up, I get that. The divorce, the bi-curious thing. But I don't give a shit right now." Hearing a sound, he rolls over to find Kris in the open doorway of the bedroom, wearing boxer shorts and holding his phone, looking guilty. "Brad, I gotta go," he says slowly, holding Kris's eyes. "I'll call you later."

Brad laughs. "Okay, he's back, I get it. Go play. Just -- keep me in the loop, okay? Open phone policy. I'm worried about you."

"I love you, too."

Brad's voice goes soft, like it always does after hearing that. "Yeah, yeah. Love you too, diva."

Tossing the phone on the nightstand, Adam pushes back the sheets on Kris's side of the bed, silently giving permission that he hates Kris is waiting for. But it works, and Kris slides into bed and gives his back for Adam to spoon.

"How's Mom?" he asks, sliding his bottom arm under Kris's neck and settling in with a sigh.

"Good. She sends her love." A finger slides along his arm, and it takes a second to realize that Kris is tracing his freckles. "I also spoke to Anna, who's not so pleased with me. There are new pictures-"

"That's why Brad called," Adam interrupts.

"Oh. He must be laughing himself sick." Pause. "That was unfair, I'm sorry. He's worried, I get that." Kris gives up the freckle game and rolls over, looming above Adam on one arm with eyebrows drawn tight. He stares at him for a second, and Adam starts to ask what he's thinking, but Kris suddenly leans down to kiss him hard, a little desperate. Adam parts his lips willingly enough, but reaches to cradle Kris's face in his palms and take over. He slides his tongue deep, urging Kris to give in and swallowing the moan he gets in return. One kiss melts into the next, and time slows down as their mouths move over and in the other, and Adam feels dizzy and off balance and positively wonderful, hardening lazily and drowning in things he thought he could never have.

But he does have them, for now at least, and he's not above dirty tricks to keep this. So he keeps their mouths sealed even as pulls Kris down to his chest so their hips line up and erections press against each other through thin fabric. At the first touch, Kris pulls off with a hiss and tosses his head back, fingers clutching at Adam's shoulders and nails digging in so Adam has no choice but to lift up and bite at the exposed neck, hand going automatically to hold him into place as he sucks a bruise into the skin.

"Adam," Kris says brokenly, hips moving restlessly, and the rhythm is off and too fast.

"Easy," he whispers, licking the purple mark he's made, smiling when Kris makes a sharp sound. "Follow my lead, we'll get there." Cupping slim hips in his hands, he sets a pace that's slow and dreamy, and Kris whimpers, eyes screwing shut as he exhales and follows the instructions of Adams hips.

"You like?" He asks softly, pushing up and pulling down, back and forth and God he loves this part, the way you figure out a new body and how everything feels familiar and new all at once.

Kris's eyes open partially, and the look in them so intense that Adam can't help but arch up a little more and pull another whimper from those dark red lips. "I like," Kris forces out on a gasp. "This is- God please, I need more-"

And he's feeling more urgent himself, so he takes advantage of his size to roll them over, kneeling between Kris's hips and kissing him again in one smooth motion, moving harder now, faster, pushing towards an orgasm that he can feel starting behind his closed eyes. For the first time since they met he simply _takes,_ and luckily Kris is right there with him wrapping arms and legs around Adam's body and breathing so heavily that they have stop kissing. So he buries his face into Kris's neck and grits his teeth as he comes, orgasm hitting him like he's been slammed into a brick wall. Beneath him, he feels Kris twist, saying his name between hitched breaths, so he keeps moving his hips, grinding his spent cock into the heat of Kris's.

"C'mon, baby, that's it, do it for me," he urges, purposely using the lowest register he has and feeling a bone deep satisfaction when Kris clings tighter and crests, crying out. He can feel the pulses under him, hot and slightly odd under fabric, and he wants to laugh or cry or something because it took years to get to yesterday and less than twenty four hours to get here and Brad really is going to laugh himself sick when he hears.

Kris lets out a deep breath and goes boneless, letting his arms and legs relax and fall on the bed. The look on his face when Adam recovers enough to lift his head is unlined and happy. "I can't move. I'm dead." He waves an arm weakly in the air before letting it collapse back down. "You're a sex god, rumors confirmed."

Adam gives him a smile he knows must be goofy. "You're beautiful," he says, pressing a kiss to Kris's lips.

And Kris hums into the kiss, smiling and pushing the hair out of Adam's eyes. "You're freakin' gorgeous," he answers seriously. "It's almost unfair, those eyes."

"Sweet talker," he says, rolling to the side and sliding off his underwear to wipe himself quickly before reaching to do the same to Kris. "Tell me more."

Kris lifts his hips when necessary, content to let Adam take care of clean up. "I like your hair," he says, and when Adam laughs in response he flips him off casually and smiles. "No, I mean it. I like the way you do it. The Elvis pompadour is seriously hot."

Settling back down, he waits until Kris is curled against him to respond. "You're such a dork, Kristopher."

"Whatever, you love me." Kris's breathing is starting to slow down, and turning his head to the clock Adam quickly calculates. There's enough time for a nap. Closing his eyes, he gropes for Kris's hand and curls his fingers around the palm, liking the way it feels.

They start to fade to sleep, so it's jarring to hear suddenly hear a quiet, "I know we have to talk about this eventually."

Adam cannot honestly think of a worse idea at the moment. "Not today, we don't."

"But eventually," Kris sleepily replies. "I don't want to."

That makes two of them, talking about relationships implies _risk of losing said relationship_ and right now he'd rather chop up his favorite gloves than put this on the table. "Baby, we don't have to talk about it. Hell, we don't even have to do it, although I'm voting on the side of doing, as often as possible." Kris hums agreement into breastbone. "Whatever you need, I'm here."

"That's not exactly fair, is it?"

"Whatever. Fuck fair," he answers deliberately lightly, "I'm getting plenty out of this, believe you me."

"But it's not." Tilting his head to look up at Adam, Kris shrugs. "Because I don't want to talk about it, but I want to keep doing it. It's not fair to you. Or to me for that matter," he adds, putting his head back down on Adams chest. "I'm going to fail both of us."

"Stop." Adam's fingers tighten on the back underneath them. "No more self flagellation. It's boring and painfully emo and seriously fucking with my afterglow here. Especially since we know full well that neither of us are giving this up." Everything goes off balance for a second, and this is why he didn't want to have this talk, because words were dangerous in ways sex wasn't.

Swallowing against a suddenly dry throat, he pushes forward, because fuck it, no one ever accused him of not going for the biggest prize available. "Stay for the rest of the tour. There's only six weeks left, you can write your album. And I can fuck you," he adds, feeling more than hearing the indrawn breath. "And somewhere along the way, we'll talk. When you're ready to tell me everything."

Kris is silent, and Adam tries to ignore his heart, which is pounding way too fast. After a long minute, Kris places a kiss on chest. "Yes. To all of it."

*

Adam loves Las Vegas, loves it in pure adoration, because it's saturated with everything life should be dripping with. Excess and color and a refusal to give in to practicality, Vegas is basically the world's greatest drag queen. It's one of his favorite cities to visit, and go out in, and usually it's a shame that he gets great hotel rooms because he never seems to spend any time in them.

This trip, he might as well be in Iowa.

With the exception of performing, he spends 48 hours locked inside the suite and doing his best to survive having a very enthusiastic, naked, and seemingly touch starved Kris Allen available -- like everything else in Vegas - twenty four seven.

"You are - yes, yes, just like that-" Adam gasps, feeling Kris's tongue trace the vein in his cock "_seriously_ fucking with my perception of bi-curious." Gripping the hair under his hands harder, he pushes his shoulders back against the fabric of the armchair, vaguely remembering that he was on his way to the bar for yet another water bottle when Kris had walked out of the bathroom pink and clean, rubbing his wet hair with a towel. Kris had frozen in response to whatever must have been on his face, and before he could blink he was unceremoniously shoved in the nearest chair and Kris had fallen to his knees.

Kris licks a slow line again before pulling back slightly and tilting his head up as much as he can with Adam's hands in his hair. "Just bi, thanks. Now shut up," he says, bringing up a hand to cup Adam's balls and squeeze gently. "Unless it's to give me directions. I'm still relatively new at this." Leaning back in, he sucks the head of Adam's cock into his mouth and rubs the flat of his tongue on the underside, making Adam swear and shake, even as a voice in the back of his mind notes a strangeness in what Kris just said, because _relatively_?

*

"Relatively?" He asks, much later, as they eat room service sitting on the bed under the neon lights coming in through the window.

Kris laughs around a mouthful of burger, and God, that's disgusting. "I thought you'd pick up on that." Swallowing, Kris leans over the room service tray to kiss him quickly before settling back and picking up his burger again. "I might have...explored a bit after, well, you know."

Of course, and Adam wants to smack himself. L.A., post divorce, only ever having had sex with one person, yeah, it was perfectly logical. Still. "How much, country mouse?"

"How much did I explore or how much did I do while exploring?" Kris crams another French fry in his mouth and is almost bouncing, and Adam is momentarily distracted by how ridiculously adorable Kris is like this, naked and happiness spilling out of him. He wonders if Kris will let him take a picture. Probably not.

"Both." Grabbing his last fry from the plate, he tries to imagine it. Kris at a bar, scanning the room for a guy with the right look. It doesn't fit.

"Just one guy. Studio drummer, we traded blowjobs in Austin." Kris raises an eyebrow. "Don't tell me you're jealous. I've got way more ammunition there."

He is. He's irrationally jealous, emphasis on the irrational. "I'm not jealous," he lies, "I just can't believe you didn't tell me."

"Oh, my God, you're so jealous!" Kris crows, poking him in the chest and giggling. "That's so dumb."

There's a second before it processes, and Adam frowns, thinking back to the way Kris looked when he arrived, tired and wanting to hide. "Wait, in Austin?"

"Yeah?" Finally seeming full, Kris starts to neatly stack the plates in the center of the tray, good breeding and marriage training kicking in nicely. "What about it?"

"The timing is interesting," he points out, watching Kris's ass as he knees his way to the end of the bed and reaches to pick up the tray and take it out to the living room. Lying down, Adam crosses his arms under his head, flipping this new information around in his head. Kris is back before he can figure out exactly what about this timeline is, not bothering him exactly, but making him wonder what Kris was thinking about when he showed up in Seattle.

Kris straddles his waist, smiling down at him, so he bumps up a little, just too see eyes darken and feel Kris's hands automatically brace themselves on Adam's chest. "Are you asking me? Cause if you want to know something, you can just ask, you know."

"Sometimes you don't answer."

"That's not the same as lying," Kris points out. "But I think I can answer this one."

Freeing his arms, he cups Kris's hips, carefully lining his fingers up with the bruises he had made holding Kris down this morning. Kris moans softly when he does, biting his lip, so he presses again, harder. "Did you come to Seattle for this?" he asks, wanting to pretend the answer doesn't matter but it _does_, because using a friend has limits.

"No." Kris uses the tip of finger to circle Adam's nipple, staring at the way it pebbles under the touch. "I mean, I knew it was a possibility," and Jesus, was he the only person left in the world who didn't know this was going to happen the first moment it could? A sudden twist on his nipple brings Kris back into focus. "Hey. Don't go there," Kris says sharply. "I mean me, not you. I knew it was a possibility for _me_. So I wanted to see if I could -- I didn't want to play with you like that. I wanted to know that I wasn't going to mess with your head."

His world shifts, again. "I wouldn't have cared," he says finally, trying to match honesty for honesty.

Kris shrugs with one shoulder. "That's why I had to be sure. Look, I knew what I felt. I've always know what I felt for you was...different than it should have been."

"Christ, please tell me that Katy didn't think-"

"No." Kris bites his lip, but he meets Adam's gaze honestly. "You had nothing to do with the divorce, I promise. I'm not saying that it couldn't have become a problem, later. But after the Rolling Stone came out, we talked and agreed that there was nothing wrong with a crush. On, uh... both ends."

One day, Kris was going to lose the ability to shock him. It would be a sad day, indeed. Moving his hands to Kris's waist, he flips them both over, drinking in the startled laugh like water. He gropes for the bottle of lube he had very wisely placed on the nightstand, popping the cap open with one hand while teasing Kris's bellybutton with his tongue. "Enough talk. I wanna see if I can make you come with my fingers." He spills too much lube over his hand but the maids are going to have deal with far worse after they check out, so he doesn't care much.

Kris laughs again, breathlessly, kneading Adam's shoulders with his nails. "Okay," he says, opening his legs easily and wiggling into place. "Sounds like a plan."

*

The van taking them to the airport is parked in an underground garage in the hotel, which is very good for many reasons, not the least of which is that Kris and Adam are the last two to arrive and there's no way to avoid the silent amusement of the band as they crawl into the empty front row of seats. Kris is also amused, if the way he intentionally sells, "Man, I'm _wiped_," while snuggling again Adam is any indication. Adam presses his lips together and tries to pretend that he can't hear Cam giggling behind him, but that doesn't stop him from curling his hand around Kris's shoulder and shifting him closer.

They pull up the airport, photogs lining the curb, and Adam sighs as he realizes they're not getting out of the van until security gets into place. Tommy says, "There are more than usual, guys. Like, a lot," and both he and Kris look out of the tinted window and fuck, there really are.

"This is your fault," he scowls at Kris, who puts on his best 'who me?' expression. "Those damn hand on my ass pictures." The band cracks up at that, and Adam turns to scowl at them, too. "Shut up," he says, realizing that his voice sounds whiny, which sends them into more laughter and Kris joins them, eyes dancing and seemingly unconcerned.

"Oh, stop bitching, Lambert. I won't grab your ass this time, no matter how much you secretly want me to."

Tommy snickers "Secretly?" and Adam rolls his eyes. Security appears, tapping on the window. The noise increases tenfold when door slides open, and they both get flanked by protective, well paid large men as Kris deliberately shoves his hand in his pockets and they walk into the terminal, ignoring questions and the sounds of cameras.

"It's going to get worse," he says to Kris when they are finally, blessedly, in the first class lounge where no one seems to care who they are. "That wasn't even that bad, honestly."

"I don't care," Kris replies, reaching for the lock of hair that Adam had dyed green back in Vancouver. "You need to redo," he says offhandedly, before smoothing it back into place.

Adam grabs the offending hand and stares as Kris smoothly adjusts his palm so that they're holding hands. "You'll care," he answers, looking at their entwined fingers. "Or are you telling me that you're coming out? Cause 'bi' doesn't play on Entertainment Tonight."

Thankfully, Kris actually thinks before answering, so maybe he was starting to understand that this was serious. "Still don't care," he says finally, and Adam exhales hard through his teeth. "I'm gonna worry about it later."

"When did you get so fucking zen?" Kris settles his head back against the seat, slouching low and picking up their clasping hands to rest them on his thigh.

"I don't know," he answers, "I just feel good, for the first time in a long while, I guess. Your emo is seriously fucking with my afterglow," he adds, smiling in a way that says he's still thinking about what they've been doing and what they intend to do as soon as they get behind a closed door, and so Adam shuts up in the face of that logic.

*

The St. Louis show is humid, and he's going to have to sit Pamela down for a serious discussion about outdoor amphitheaters during a Midwest summer. By the time he gets offstage, he's dripping, make up everywhere and soaked to the bone. "Romance is dead," he mourns, as Kris puts up two hands to ward him off, and he's joking but Kris makes a face and leans up just enough to peck him on the lips.

"Let's get takeout," he suggests as they make their way to the dressing room Adam's been assigned, stripping as quickly as possible so he can get into the small attached shower.

"Barbeque," Kris says immediately from the couch, pulling his knees up and watching Adam like he's a movie he hoping never ends.

"Sushi," Adam counters, walking towards the shower.

"Takeout sushi? Gross."

When they get back on the bus, they're still debating the merits of delivered raw fish, and Adam points to the binder of menus that his assistant tabbed by city before stumbling to his bed. The bedding is still the best idea he ever had - Brad had wanted to go to Hastens to ogle a sales guy he knew, and by the end of the trip Brad had a date and Adam had bought over a thousand dollars worth of down pillows and blankets and a furry cream throw that made sleeping naked a religious experience. Throwing himself on top of the pile, he stretches hard, pulling every muscle tight and holding before letting it all go and sinking down in bliss. Fourteen hours until the next radio interview and somehow, he was going to figure out a way to sleep for at least eight of them.

"How do you _do_ that?"

"Hmm?" Adam murmurs, prying his eyes open to see Kris standing by the bed, binder in hand and staring.

"_That_." Kris replies, waving an arm around the vicinity of where Adam is laying.

"Baby, I'm gonna need a few more words. Maybe a noun."Kris sighs, tossing the binder down and climbing onto the bed, sitting cross-legged and completely ignoring the fact that his dirty converse are currently on top of the world's most expensive duvet. Adam reaches out to curl a hand around Kris's ankle, and Kris sighs again. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. How are you always so... _sexy_?" It doesn't sound like a compliment, it sounds like a complaint, like Kris is aggravated by Adam's ability to sprawl.

He can't help it, he laughs loudly, pushing his face into a pillow to stifle the sounds. When he gets punched in the arm, he looks back up, grinning at Kris, who's now a shade of pink but smiling, too. "Aww, Kristopher," teasing, "Do you want the glitter fairy to sprinkle sexy dust on you? Trust me, you're sexy."

Kris wrinkles his nose and plays with a shoelace, shrugging. "I don't know. I mean, I don't feel sexy. Isn't that what it's supposed to be? Something you feel?" He's obviously serious about this and working up to something, so Adam gives the question more consideration than he normally would.

"Yes and no," he says finally, releasing Kris's ankle and rolling onto his back. "It's - a little of everything, I guess. Knowing, feeling, faking." He smiles, thinking about the first time he dyed his hair, the absolute shock of looking into the bathroom mirror and seeing a completely different person, one who was maybe the guy he had always wanted to be. "Fake it till you make it is a pretty good path to the sexy, actually."

When he turns to face him, Kris is biting his lip, so he reaches to grab a wrist and tug a little, just enough to get Kris to focus on him and not on whatever is in his head. "What's up, baby? Where are you going with this?"

Kris is breathing a little faster now, studying the hand around his wrist, so Adam squeezes again, just to hear another sharp intake of air. When he meets Adam's eyes, they're dark and wide.

"Show me."

This is...not completely unexpected. Adam has had more than one friend who's had a divorce or a messy breakup, and the urge to reinvent is palpable and sometimes the best way to just move the fuck on, but still - "Is that what you want?" he asks softly, because what Kris is asking for can be good, but it can also be a disaster, and sometimes its just foreplay, but in every case it changes something. Seeing yourself differently lasts, longer than new clothes or a haircut, even when it fails. Maybe especially when it fails.

"C'mon." Kris rolls his eyes, but it doesn't quite counter the way Adam can feel his pulse racing under his thumb. "You're been dying to do this since we've met. I'm giving you carte blanche, here." He pauses, and when he speaks again his voice is lower, hesitant. "Make me look on the outside the way I want to feel. You can do that, right?"

"Oh, I can," Adam smiles. "Stand up." Maybe it's not a good idea, but right now it's Kris's idea of a good idea. Either way, he's had years to think about what he would do if Kris ever got drunk enough to want this. This is better.

Kris unfolds himself to stand at the side of bed, and Adam follows more gracefully, exhaustion just a memory now, stripping off his shirt and walking to the trunk in the bus closet, thinking of what he needs. He takes his time, humming the song Kris has been working on for a couple of days. It's only a few minutes before he dumps it all on the bed and has to laugh at the sight of Kris standing stock still beside the bed and eyeing the pile of makeup like there might be a bomb in there.

"Relax, Kristopher," he says over his shoulder as he looks for -- ah, there it is, folded neatly on a hanger. Grabbing the leather, he tosses it next to the makeup. "It's all washable and I'm pretty sure this ends in orgasms." He walks back over and steps close, kissing him softly, letting his tongue trace a line across his bottom lip. After a second, Kris exhales softly and kisses him back. Pulling back before they get can be distracted, Adam lets his hands drift further down to the hem of his t-shirt, curling into the fabric and lifting it up and over Kris's head in one smooth motion. He tries not to smile when Kris lets him, lifting his arms automatically and tilting his chin to ease the motion. Kris would deny it, vehemently, but Adam's known all along that given the slightest opportunity Kris could be a sensualist - you only needed to watch him playing piano once to know that, and why no one else seems to notice has always annoyed him.

Letting the shirt fall to the floor, he holds Kris's eyes as unsnaps the top button on his jeans, and they're tight enough to stay on his hips, even when Adam tugs on the waistband to lower them another inch. "Take off your shoes and socks," he says, and Kris nods as he nudges them off, one hand on Adams upper arm as a brace. When he's left standing there, in just undone jeans and skin, Adam steps back to look. It's halfway to their goal already.

He continues to hum the song as he works, it's a really nice mid tempo melody he's only heard snatches of. "I'm pretty much finished with that one," Kris says, obediently closing his eyes when instructed to. "I'll play it for you tomorrow."

"Sounds good," Adam replies, tilting Kris's chin up a little. "What's it called?"

"_Afterglow_, unless you think that's too on the nose." It is, but so what? Kissing Kris on his cheekbone quietly in acknowledgment of the gesture, he reaches for the small kit on the bed. "How you doing? Having fun?" He presses a rhinestone down at the edge of an eyebrow, and feels a hand sneak around to cup an ass cheek.

"More now," Kris says teasingly. "It's all just kinda itchy at the moment."

"It can be," Adam replies, sighing dramatically to make Kris giggle. "Yet, we persevere. Okay, lips and then we're done."

"That was fast," Kris murmurs as Adam applies gloss carefully with a small brush.

Adam puts down the brush and looks critically at his work before thumbing along the bottom of Kris's lip line. "I'm very good at this. And you're very, very good at standing still. C'mon."

There's a full length mirror in the corner that Adam impatiently brushes boas off of before sliding behind Kris, pressing close and waiting. Kris lifts his head to look, eyes immediately going wide, which in turns adds to the picture, so bonus on that. "Oh. Uh, wow."

Chuckling, Adam catches his eyes in the mirror. "You like?"

"I..." Swallow. "I don't know."

"I know," Adam counters. "I like." Kris is shimmering, soft, and the gold dust just accentuates the thick dark blue leather strap that cuts diagonally across his chest and back. Adam usually wears it over stiff button downs, but tightened on Kris's body it reeks of intention and he can't help but trace a finger over where the leather is cutting into Kris's skin. "This will leave a mark," he murmurs, smiling at the reflexive shudder. "What do you think of your eyes?"

"They're, um, different from yours."

"Well, yeah. You see right here," Adam traces a finger lightly over eyeliner and feels the stomach under his other hand twitch, "I went with subtle. I can do subtle, you know. You're not glam, baby. You're not androgyny and glitter, I wouldn't try to make you into a copy." Abruptly tapping his finger on the tip of Kris's nose, he shrugs into the mirror. "Copies, not sexy. But this, very."

The makeup _is_ subtle, but it's right -- thin lines around Kris's eyes throw them into stark relief, the lashes dark and lengthened so that each blink takes just a little more time, cheekbones shaded to a permanent flush. The glossy lips are just a shade darker than normal, like maybe Kris has been biting them too much, or maybe someone else has. His hair is finally long enough that Adam was able to play, letting it fall forward and low, a post coital look and tinted, just slightly, with purple mousse you would have to squint to see. The one concession to Adam's aesthetic are the three gems clustered in the corner of one eye, and it doesn't throw the look off balance as much as scream Twink For Sale, or possibly, Twink Already Claimed By A Glam God, and Adam is willing to concede that might have been intentional. Only if Kris asks, though.

All in all, Kris looks like he should be lounging inside of a birdcage at a very, very exclusive club, possibly one of those Japanese ones that Neil sent him links to during the promo tour last year. Kris has always been cute, will always be cute, but cute can be knee weakening. Heaven knows the world was already full of nice, pleasant looking brown haired boys, desperate to fit in and wearing the same baggy jeans three times a week. A societal lesson that Adam is extremely happy to counter, because this is...something to see. And touch. Sexy didn't begin to cover. As far as Adam is concerned, right now, Kris _is _sex.

So it's easy to shift his weight, to pull tighter and let his hands slide down to thumb sharp hipbones and force him look at what Adam's made him into, if only for tonight. "Beautiful," he murmurs, rubbing a roughened cheek against Kris's temple, pressing a slow kiss against it. "Sexy baby. Look." And Adam watches too, the sight of them making him dizzy and hard, close already just from this.

Kris lifts a shaky hand towards the mirror before aborting the gesture, choosing instead to lift his right arm and reach back and over his head, sliding his fingers into the hair at Adam's neck, the grip tight and stretching his upper body into a line that makes Adam's mouth dry. That move deserves a reward, so Adam lowers his head to lick a line from shoulder to ear, tonguing the shell before whispering, "Say it. Look at yourself and say it, and I'll make it worth your while."

Kris moans, panting already, pushing his hips back. Adam slides his hand to Kris's zipper, rubbing a finger across the exposed skin at the waistband. "Say, it baby. Say it and I'll get you off, right here, and you can watch yourself come."

"Oh, fuck." Kris's eyes go shut, clamped, and Adam bites down lightly on one shoulder and tightens the grip he has on a hip.

"Keep your eyes open." They fly open again, immediately, and Adam doesn't resist leaning further to capture Kris's mouth, sliding it open with ease and licking inside. Breaking off the kiss after long moments, he eases fingers into Kris's mouth, biting back a moan as they get sucked, desperately. He pushes down the zipper, ignoring the canting hips and a whine when he stops, waiting until Kris meets his eyes in the mirror before speaking in a harder tone. "Say it."

"I'm...sexy," Kris gasps. "Whatever, Adam, please, just fucking touch me already-" and Adam shoves his wet hand down to pull Kris's cock out of his pants, jerking him fast and a little too hard, wrapping the his other arm around the tiny waist to hold him in place.

"Look at yourself, look at _us_," Adam breathes, staring, fascinated by the sight of Kris writhing in his arms. "You're close, aren't you?"

"Yes," Kris answers, the word stretching into syllables when Adam sucks down hard on his neck and reaches to capture a nipple between his fingers. "God, yes, like that. _More_." So he gives him more, twisting, speeding his hand up until Kris tenses and freezes, grasping at Adam's arm and digging his nails in, shouting as comes.

"Fuck, yes, baby. That was so hot, so good." Adam works him down slowly, still massaging Kris's cock, nuzzling at the bite mark he left in his neck. Kris exhales, leaning his head back on Adam's shoulder, groaning as muscles unlock. Smiling, Adam feeds Kris his wet fingers, murmuring approval when Kris sucks on them lazily. "Such a good boy," he whispers, finally turning Kris around to pull him close to his chest, tilting his face up. Kris is heavy lidded, his makeup smeared and eyes wet. Amazing. "You're beautiful, Kristopher. Beautiful and sexy and mine."

"Yours,"comes the reply, husky and raw like after a show, making Adam close his eyes against the surge of emotion that leaps in his chest. It takes a few minutes, but eventually Kris sighs, coming out his post orgasmic haze. "Hey," he says, as if just seeing Adam for the first time, and stands on his toes to kiss him, slow and long, and reminding Adam of his own urgency.

So he takes over the kiss abruptly, changing the angle and forcing Kris's head back a little, gratified that Kris goes boneless instantly. Cupping his ass to pull him into the cradle of his hips, Adam grinds a little before easing off the kiss. "Bed, I think."

Kris shoots a glance at the bed just a few feet away. "Too far."

And there's no answer to that except to reach under Kris's hips and physically toss him into the blankets, where he lands laughing and starts to struggle out of his too tight jeans with wiggles that make Adam's hands shake. "C'mere," Kris says, naked and reaching his arms out, and it's all so much, perfect really, and Adam feels overwhelmed as he crawls into the bed and pulls Kris into his arms too tightly.

*

The next day, Kris plays him _Afterglow _on his guitar as they're stuck in traffic on the highway that leads into Chicago. He closes his eyes while he listens, sipping coffee on the couch in the front of the bus, letting Kris's falsetto on the chorus wash over him. _Found a little solace in the knowledge/Good things never come to those who wait for you/Found the rest when lights turned low/Everything I wanted in the afterglow. _

When it's done, he opens his eyes to find Kris looking at him nervously. "The bridge could be reworked, I think," he starts, but cuts himself off when Adam shakes his head slowly.

"Touch a note and I'll kill you. Play it again."

Kris blushes and ducks his head, but he starts the song from the top.

*

The morning of Kris's birthday, Adam wakes Kris up in Indianapolis with a kiss brushed over swollen lips. Kris doesn't open his eyes even as he smiles and slides a hand into Adam's hair to hold him close and kiss him back. "Happy Birthday, baby," Adam murmurs, kissing the corner of that smile and stroking his fingers across the stubble of Kris's chin.

"Mmm. Morning." Kris stretches, finally opening his eyes, blinking and wriggling a bit before settling down. "What time is it?"

"Ten." Pushing the sheet covering Kris down further, Adam props himself up on one elbow and uses the other hand to trace a line down Kris's side. "I've got phone interviews in twenty minutes."

Kris twists towards the touch, and Adam can feel his heart speed up. So responsive. Easy, in the best way, just give Kris something and he'll double it back on the return. Amazing. "Does this mean I don't get my birthday blowjob?" Kris asks innocently.

Adam laughs and wriggles the fingers resting on Kris's waist, laughing more when Kris immediately flinches because Kris Allen is really fucking ticklish and that's a weapon that Adam will always have on his side. "Oh, you'll get it, don't worry. Just let me go charm three different radio stations first." One more kiss, and then Adam forces himself to get up from the bed and walk to towards the shower, looking back at the bed, where Kris has curled back up in a pile of pillows like a puppy, watching him walk naked across the room with a look of low lidded appreciation that almost makes Adam want to blow off everything he's scheduled for. Has anyone ever looked at him like that before? Maybe. At the moment, he doesn't remember.

Pausing in the doorway to the world's tiniest bathroom, he looks back over his shoulder. "Be ready in an hour. You've got a birthday present, and no, not just the blowjob. That's mostly for me, anyway." He ducks into the shower, smiling at the sound of sleepy laughter.

Later, he walks Kris into the still empty concert hall. The piano is on stage, exactly where Adam wanted it, and sometimes it's really good to be rich and spoiled, because the look on Kris's face when he sees it is worth all the drama it took to get the damn thing here on Saturday morning.

"Holy shit." Kris stares at the piano and then back at Adam. "I mean -- _holy shit, Adam_. That's a Boston Steinway, oh my God." He doesn't break into a run, but it's close, and Adam follows at a slower pace, grinning when Kris immediately sits down on the bench and lifts the lid to touch keys with something approaching reverence. "This is amazing. How did you -- no, forget that, I'll thank Lane later."

"Happy Birthday," Adam says quietly, sliding to sit next to Kris on the bench, hips touching. "You like?"

"I like." A lot, if the way he's stoking the keys lightly is any indication. "I like you," he adds, tilting his head and that's an invitation if Adam's ever seen one, so he takes it, pushing into Kris's mouth and cupping the back of his neck to keep him there. Pulling back, he leans his forehead against Kris's. "Play something for me," he says quietly.

"Yeah. Yeah, of course. Do you have something in mind?" Kris eyes keep moving between the piano and Adam's mouth, and it's too much fun to watch him trying to figure out what he wants more.

Adam shrugs, turning to plunk keys awkwardly, the beginning of Heart and Soul, which is pretty much all that has remained of his failure at having Neil teach him all those years ago. "I don't know. Maybe something you could play tonight. You might want to figure that out, by the way -- you're doing a four song set."

From the corner of his eye, he sees Kris freeze. "It's not normal for you to go this long without performing," he continues carefully, still tapping out the song. "I know I said the blowjob was mostly for me, I guess this is, too. I miss seeing you on stage." He gives up on _Heart and Soul _\-- seriously, he has to take actual lessons one day. Maybe he can convince Kris to give him some.

Taking a deep breath and putting his hands on his thighs, he waits to see if Kris is going to say something, but no, a quick peek shows that he still hasn't moved. "We haven't publicized it, or anything. We can blow it off, but I've seen the look on your face during shows and you can't tell me that's all about me. You haven't been on a stage since the divorce," oh, and that gets a flinch, "and that's _too long_. Your career can't afford it," he adds flatly. "And, oh yeah -- how about the fact that you're a singer, and a performer, and this is what you do. Running from it is worse than _using_ it."

The silences stretches for a long moment, and Adam is starting to think this whole thing is going to end up in the colossal bad idea file, because it hasn't escaped his attention that Kris still hasn't played a note.

Suddenly Kris is moving, pushing the bench back and standing up and Adam, startled, reaches for him but it's okay because Kris pivots and is straddling him, grabbing at him, pulling him into a kiss that's deep and filthy, and yes please this totally works, because anyone who hasn't had a piano fantasy about Kris just wasn't thinking hard enough. Cupping Kris's ass to encourage the grinding, Adam throws his head back with a gasp and moans when Kris switches to kissing and licking his neck, biting on the tendon, and speaking against his skin, and it takes a moment to register that Kris is saying "Thank you, _thank you_, Jesus, Adam." between bites.

"Oh. Fuck, you're welcome?"

Pulling back, Kris frames Adam's face with his hands, eyes glittering. "You're wonderful. I know the piano line on _Soaked_, by the way. Think you might want to sing that tonight?"

Pulling Kris to him tightly, Adam feels an unexpected wave of relief. Every day, Kris gets a piece of himself back, and it's worth wherever this goes and whatever it takes. "Very much," he answers honestly.

When Adam introduces Kris that night, it takes about three stunned seconds for the audience to go batshit crazy, and he stays on stage with his arm around Tommy as Kris grins and waves to the crowd before settling at his piano, christened Ted, ("You're naming it _what_?" "It's a Boston thing. And a baseball thing, don't worry about it.") and starts the opening to _Written All Over My Face_, at which the audience goes batshit crazy _again_ and Adam can't help but bury hysterical laughter in Tommy's neck, who just shakes his head and stage whispers "You are, like, boyfriend of the year right now." And Adam shrugs and smiles and thinks to himself that it would be really nice if that were true.

They save _Soaked_ for the encore, and thank God for American Idol training, because the arrangement only took them an hour and yet it works perfectly, Kris pounding on Ted and Adam draped on the piano like he always wanted to do at some point anyway, so why not now? The last notes from both of them fade and the lights go dark and the audience eats it up, so it kinda becomes, instantly, one of Adam's favorite moments on a stage ever. In the dark he slides off the piano and can hear Kris standing up, too, and by the time the lights come back up for bows five thousand people have no idea that they just missed a quick, hard kiss, full of promise and intent and thanks that goes both ways.

*

The next day, Adam wakes up in bed alone. He can hear Kris talking on the phone over his pounding headache, and this is exactly what he gets for celebrating Kris's birthday night by drinking something called a Cowboy Killer at a western themed bar in the middle of bumfuck Indiana. Groaning, he considers more sleep, but curiosity and a pressing need for the bathroom and a toothbrush wins out. Doing that, and swallowing three Advil, he walks towards Kris's voice. Whatever is going on doesn't sound like a big deal, Kris's voice is calm, and Adam finds him sitting on the couch with his laptop open on the table and drinking coffee.

My coffee, Adam thinks, which is all the justification he needs to steal the cup and stretch out along the wall side of the couch, leaning back and tucking his bare toes under Kris's leg. Kris doesn't stop his conversation, but he does rub Adam's calf under the leg of his sweats and smile.

" -- and that's _also_ something you should talk to Adam's people about," Kris is saying, and Adam's fairly sure he should be concentrating more, expect that the Advil hasn't had time to kick in. "I'll send what I have to you today, and hey, can you get me a StudioLab down here? Yeah, send it to-" Kris looks at him expectantly, and Adam blinks, because what was the question? "Hold on," Kris says, covering the phone with one hand. "Where are we gonna be tomorrow?"

Adam yawns, and thinks of the schedule. "Buffalo. No, Cleveland," he says finally, closing his eyes.

"Cleveland," Kris says into the phone. "Call Pamela -- Adam?"

"Oberman."

"Pamela Oberman, she's the tour manager, she'll get you the info. Okay, thanks." He can hear Kris toss the phone on the table, he's always been too hard on them. "You stole my coffee."

Adam cradles the cup between in hands protectively. "It's my coffee, go make more," he says, and pries his eyes open. Kris eyes are bright, and way too awake. "Why are you not dying? I'm dying."

"Because I puked my guts out at about five this morning, then I drank about a gallon of water, and then I took so much aspirin I had to read the label to make sure I wasn't gonna O.D."

Adam frowns. "You did?"

Laughing, Kris stands up, walking to the small coffeepot and pulling out the filter. "Yeah, you didn't even move. The phone has been going nonstop, by the way. I bet you have a million messages."

"Why?" Adam tries to remember if he did something stupid the night before. Probably.

Kris turns the coffeepot on before walking back to the couch, dropping on the floor and laying his head near Adam's stomach. "YouTube."

Oh. The show last night. "Thank God, I thought I had done something stupid. Can we go back to bed now?" He slides his free hand into Kris's hair, playing with the strands and scratching a little.

"In a minute, I haven't had any coffee," Kris replies patiently, arching his neck to guide Adam's nails to the right spot. "Anyway, everyone is flipping out. We should have 'gotten approval' and no one knows if they're supposed to be billing me for the next show. There was also something about box office receipts, which I think means that you're supposed to be paying me."

Adam smiles. "Tell them I'm paying you in trade. Wait, what did you say?"

"I told them that since we share management, they could figure it out. It was funny, actually, they didn't know whether to be mad at us for pulling this stunt or relieved that I was working again. I think I smoothed it over when I told them I had songs to send." Kris sounds satisfied with himself, Adam notes. "I can't believe it, man. Six months of nothing and then the last three weeks..." Kris turns his head enough to press lips against Adam's tattoo. "Have I thanked you for this?"

Adams chest feels tight, and the spot on his wrist Kris kissed is tingling. "Every day," he answers, and the smile he gets back is the one that makes him feel like he's center stage and under a spotlight. "Baby, I really want to kiss you right now."

"So kiss me," Kris replies, expressive eyes dancing and a little breathless.

"I wish I could," Adam says mournfully. "But I can't bend down, my head feels like it's gonna explode. Do you really need coffee or can we go back to bed now?" Kris is giggling, standing up and pulling Adam off the couch, leading the way. Adam crawls in gratefully and throws an arm out to locate Kris.

"Wait a second, I'm taking my jeans off."

"Yaaaay," he cheers weakly, just to get a snort of disbelief, and then Adam feels the dip of bed and Kris's wonderfully naked body stretch alongside him. Using the last of his energy, he throws an arm around Kris's waist to bring him in tight so that he can bury his face in the nape of Kris's neck.

*

It takes six different conference calls and too many emails to care about, but eventually everyone in L.A. is satisfied with Kris performing. And just in time, Adam thinks, looking at his set list while sitting in a makeup chair, because it's already six and he still has to figure out what he's going to cut in order to make room for Kris to do six songs tonight.

"Baby, what are you closing with?" he asks Kris, who's currently on the floor in the tiny trailer, guitar on his lap and waiting for his turn in the chair.

Kris strums something complex and frowns at the sound, shifting his hands slightly to play it again, this time seemingly happy with the result. "I'm not sure. _Man in Mirror_, maybe. Why?"

Sheri tells him to close his eyes and Adam obeys automatically, tilting his chin up. "Do that, it's up-tempo enough. I think I'm going to do _Postcard Face_ as the first song back

"Yeah, okay." Kris yawns, and Adam fights a grin, knowing how easily bored Kris gets waiting for makeup or in rehearsals. During the AI tour, Kris made every technical person crazy by either falling asleep or simply walking away at the slightest inactivity. He'd been assigned 'Kris duty' by their exasperated handlers. It wasn't a bad job. Strumming again, Kris plays the intro to _Postcard_, saying idly, "I'd have more song choice if Cale were here."

Sheri tells him to open, and when he does Adam looks over the makeup critically before nodding and closing again so she can move to the other side. "Well, call him then," he answers absently.

The music stops suddenly. "What?"

Confused, Adam risks his eyes shadow by opening his eyes. Sheri sighs, but he ignores her to look over at Kris, who seems surprised. "I mean it," he says, wondering why this was a big deal. "I mean, there's only a few weeks left. The buses are full so he'd have to fly ahead of us everywhere, but I don't think he'd care, right?"

For a second, something flickers in Kris's eyes that resembles irritation, but it's gone in a heartbeat when Kris lets out a low laugh and shakes his head. "I could ask you for the moon, Adam," he says wryly. "I could ask you for anything and you'd just hand it over, wouldn't you?"

Wait, was Krismad at him? "Are you mad at me?"

Kris stands up, brushing his jeans off. "No. I'm not mad," he says, shooting a cautious glance in Sheri's direction before leaning over to sweep a kiss over Adam's lips. "I'm gonna go see if there are any cookies left. I'll be back for my turn, Sher." And Adam watches him go, wondering what just happened.

*

Later, he finds Kris in the bus waiting for him with a two bowls of pasta at the table, already eating. "That for me?" he asks, sliding into the seat. Kris just swallows and raises an eyebrow as if to indicate that Adam is an idiot, which yes, that was an idiotic question. "Thanks," Adam acknowledges. "So you gonna tell me what that was about?"

Sighing, Kris puts his fork down to fold his hands on the table and lean forward. "This isn't an equal relationship right now."

"Fine," Adam says, rolling his eyes and leaning back against the seat. "Cale can't come, and you can figure out how to play guitar and piano at the same time with your _four hands_. What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about moving on your bus and pianos and clothes and you telling the suits that I needed a longer set --"

"You're pissed I bought you clothes?" This is ridiculous, Adam thinks, but looking at the stubborn set of Kris's jaw it occurs to him that this is something that Kris has been thinking about, probably _worried over_, and he forces himself to breathe and not follow his first instinct, which is more along the lines of 'are you shitting me?' "Kristopher. We have an equal relationship. Right now, I'm in the position to help you out, which you would do for me, right?" Kris nods, and Adam's shoulders unclench. "Well then. It's no big deal."

"But it is," Kris counters. "You- you've given me everything, and you haven't asked me for a damn thing." Cocking his head, Kris's eyes narrow, and Adam feels studied in a way that makes him feel like he's under a microscope. "What do you need, Adam? What do you need from _me_?"

Don't leave. The thought comes instantly, and Adam squashes it with years of practice. "I don't know what you want me to say," he responds after a second, making his voice open and clear, with no indication of the mildly rising panic in his chest. "I love having you here. I'm...happy." Shrugging, he picks up his fork to play with, a part of him fully aware that he's doing exactly what he swore he'd never do again. Dodging the fight, using the right combination of words to simply get the conversation over with, silly and manipulative and a replay of every relationship he'd ever had. "There's music and sex and we're together, so yeah, sometimes I go overboard. Because I'm _happy_. Aren't you?"

Peeking up through his bangs, he sees Kris cross his arms and purse his lips. He doesn't look very happy. He looks like he can read Adam like a book.

Without warning, Kris unfolds his arms and stands up, coming over to sit in his lap, so Adam cuddles him close and captures the lips that are waiting. Sliding his tongue in Kris's mouth, he sinks in deep, loving the familiar feel with a little relief, because he thinks he may have just avoided a fight. After long moments Kris eases off, so he places little kisses at the edge of the jaw in front of him, tilting his head to allow those clever lips to suck his earlobe slowly. He feels Kris's breath over his lobe and shivers, mentally calculating how much time they have. Not enough.

And then he hears Kris speak, in a whisper directly into his ear, "You are so full of shit, Lambert," before sliding down to his neck and sucking hard. Adam groans agreement and grabs Kris's hips, hard, loving the way it feels when Kris does this, when he finds the exact spot on his neck that's directly wired to his cock and bites down, yes, exactly like this. Then the mouth is gone, and Adam takes a second to focus, blinking and meeting brown eyes that are full and warm and radiating affection. "You are not a fling," Kris announces firmly, cupping Adam's face. "You are not a post divorce meltdown, you're not a bi-curious phase. Are you hearing me? I'm here because I want to be."

"Yeah," Adam answers, breath coming quicker. "I hear you."

"You better," and Kris's voice is a little more urgent, his hands just a little tighter, "because I don't need anything from you, I just need you. And I need you to need me, okay?"

Adam swallows the lump that has materialized in this throat. "I do."

"I'm not going to make the same mistakes," Kris continues, kissing him once, hard. "And neither are you. We're done with that, so don't bullshit me. Because I can see right through you. I've got the Adam Lambert manual memorized -- I helped write the damn thing, get it?"

He was so screwed it was beyond imagination. Kris _knows_ him. "I get it," he croaks, because Kris is waiting for an answer and when he gets kissed again he feels a combination of terror and hope, which in his experience means he's fallen in love.

*

That night, he can't keep his hands off of Kris.

The moment they're offstage, he reaches for him, ignoring Kris's startled expression when Adam pushes him into the nearest wall to capture his mouth, hands sliding down to grip Kris's ass through denim and lifting him up. He feels legs lock around his waist, fingers grabbing at his shoulders, and the jerk of hips against his makes him bite down on Kris's bottom lip, sucking it in.

It's been hours since their talk, of being on stage and even on an average night Adam usually feels like he could fuck everyone in audience and be able to walk away whole -- but tonight, it's compounded by an overwhelming need to prove something, only he can't figure out to whom.

Sliding his mouth to Kris's temple, he breathes in for a second, the smell of whatever product is in Kris's hair and sweat from being under the lights, and closes his eyes, trying to keep it together and he can't remember the last time he's felt so needy. "I think," he says quietly, kissing the side of Kris's face and tightening his grip, "we need to get back to the bus. Now."

Kris moans agreement, even as his fingers dig into Adam's shoulders and even through two layers of fabric he can feel nails. "Yes, now," Kris agrees, moaning when Adam rolls his hips again. "Adam, please."

"Yeah." He eases Kris down, holding him close until he stops swaying. "You good?" he asks, already knowing the answer to the question -- Kris's lips are wet and smeared with red, his breathing unsteady, and he's got a look on his face Adam has come to crave. Kris is very good right now.

Lacing their fingers, Adam walks him out, waving to a smirking band and even more smirking road crew, leading the way through the long hallway and out towards the back. When he pushes the door open, the heat from the summer night hits him hard. It only takes a couple of minutes to get to the bus, but it feels like hours, Kris's hand is slippery from humidity and arousal, but he hangs on.

When they're on the bus he doesn't pause, just keeps pulling Kris down the hall toward the bed and into it, stopping only to shrug off his jacket and follow. He unbuttons Kris's shirt impatiently, the moment it's undone he urges him up to pull it off and onto the floor before gripping a slender wrist in each hand, pressing them back to the bed and leaning down to grab a nipple between his teeth.

Crying out, Kris arches his back and Adam rides the motion, sucking hard and pulling, so that when he stops to look Kris's nipple is distended, the color of Adam's lipstick. Licking his way over to the other side, he repeats the motion, feeling Kris twist under him, cursing and pushing up to get more. "Adam, oh my God," Kris groans and Adam pushes him down harder for a second, before pulling back to strip off his clothes.

Kris is on the same page, thankfully, and for the next minute they're both fumbling with buttons and zippers. Cursing under his breath Adam briefly wonders why tonight of all nights he's wearing a fucking ascot, but then they're finally both naked, mostly, and at the last second Adam remembers to take off his rings, which land in clinking sounds on the small nightstand.

Pulling Kris to him, Adam kisses him again, slow and dirty, sucking on Kris's tongue and moving his mouth in rhythm, swallowing in between shifts of their mouths. He can feel Kris writhing against him, and sliding a hand down he cups Kris's ass to tease in between cheeks and brush over his entrance. Everything seems to get ratcheted up another notch when Kris moans and lifts his leg to drape it over Adam's hip, making it easier for Adam to angle the tip of one finger carefully inside. Adam tries to breathe at this simple acquiescence that reminds him that Kris wants this, wants this as much as he does, and the power of that makes him lightheaded. He traces Kris's lips with his tongue before speaking. "I want to fuck you," he breathes out, relishing the way Kris jerks in response, the way he nods against Adam's cheek so that stubble drags against his skin.

"I've been waiting," Kris says, rolling onto his stomach easily at the direction of Adam's hands. "Was beginning to think you were holding back just to mess with me."

Adam gets up to find condoms and lube, dropping them onto the bed before kneeling between Kris's spread legs. Placing a hand on each thigh, he pushes them more open and back, forcing Kris to his knees and palming both cheeks to spread them, biting his own lip at the sight. "I think I was messing with myself," he answers seriously. "Keep your shoulders on the bed," and bends down to lick a circle slowly around Kris's hole.

Gasping, Kris arches and lifts his upper body, and following instructions to the letter is something they're going to have to work on, but Adam keeps his mouth where it is even while reaching with one hand to push firmly down on Kris's shoulders. Kris collapses back into the pillow, voice breaking on Adam's name, so Adam presses his tongue inside to hear it again.

He can't help but catalog the responses he's getting, Kris's thighs are trembling and his hips are moving and every broken whisper or grunt is filed away for use the next time, because there's no way he's not doing this again at every single opportunity. It's long moments where Adam loses himself in this, in making Kris crazy for him, and time slows down until there's nothing left but the taste of Kris on his tongue and the feel of him under his hands.

When he stops, Kris stays gratifyingly in place, and he sits back on his heels to grab the lube and a condom, rolling one on with shaking hands before slicking his fingers up and trying to ignore Kris's unconsciously swaying hips and the blurs of colors on his skin from Adam's makeup. "Hurry," comes the urgent whisper, "I'm so close, just hurry up already."

"Shhh," Adam soothes, sliding one finger in deep, loving how easily it sinks into the body beneath him and the way Kris pushes back hard on a moan. Brushing his hair back out of his eyes impatiently, Adam laughs a little under his breath, this is perfect in ways he had always known it would be. "I've got you, it's going to be so good I promise," he says and pulls back to slide two fingers in without pause, stretching him expertly, knowing how to do this right, to fold it into the tension and make it better. Kris's body hitches before finding the rhythm again, and Adam strokes him in approval before asking, wanting to drive Kris out of his mind, "Was I the first one to touch you like this, baby? Did you let Katy do it? Or maybe you just did it to yourself, hmm?"

Kris's whole body shudders even as his mouth works to form an answer, "Jesus."

"Tell me." Three fingers now, moving incrementally but fully, and when Kris sways in response Adam steadies him by gripping a thigh.

"Myself," Kris says, 0voice raw. "Sometimes. It's so fucking intense-" and he breaks off with a whine high in his throat and a mindless thrust back and Adam can't wait anymore; teasing Kris is rewarding in ways he only fantasized about, but he's about a second from losing it himself. Pulling his fingers out and swiping more lube over the condom, he reminds himself that regardless of Kris's eagerness, this is new, and he needs this to be perfect. "On your elbows, now," he murmurs, stroking over Kris's hips as he unclenches his hands from the bedding and slowly moves into the position Adam wants, as if underwater. "There you go, baby. I've got you." Lining up, he bends to rest his forehead against Kris's back and pushes in.

"Fuck," Adam groans, mouth open against Kris's spine, forcing himself to stop moving and give Kris time to adjust. "So good," he whispers. "Deep breaths, just give it a second." He can feel Kris trying to do as told, breathing heavily and shifting slightly and opening up enough that Adam can push forward again.

"Adam," Kris breathes, like a question, and the only answer Adam has is to pull back and then forward again, slowly, working him open with his cock until the natural resistance is gone and he's deep inside, hips tight against Kris's ass and where he can reach Kris's shoulder and mouth the thick muscle there, biting down. Adjusting his weight, Adam braces himself with one hand on the bed and the other finding Kris's clenched fists, covering him as much as he can. "Ready, baby?" he asks, licking around Kris's throat.

Kris arches his neck before swallowing, throat working and saying, "Please," and that's all Adam needs to hear before inching his hips back to thrust, fluid movement that his body knows, a little harder than he intends for their first time but unable to stop. Kris doesn't know any better, though, so he just follows, off the pace for a beat before finding it, matching each motion and gasping every time Adam shoves back in. When he changes angle a bit, thrusting in hard, Kris grunts and clenches around him, and Adam chokes on an inappropriate giggle, because fuck, this is going to be over way too fast.

It doesn't stop him from doing it again, and then again, even when he fumbles trying to lift a hand to slide around Kris's body and grasp his cock. It's only half hard, not unexpected, but Adam encourages him back to full hardness, clenching his eyes shut. He uses his thumb to rub the tip of Kris's cock on each upstroke, timing it, increasing the speed, pulling back and then shoving forward until his thighs and arm are burning with supporting his weight. This is incredible, he thinks, and it feels right so he says it out loud against Kris's throat. "You're incredible, Kristopher, so fucking _perfect_ I can't tell you," and he feels more pressure against his cock when Kris clenches down and starts to come, spurting against his fingers and crying out, falling forward.

Gritting his teeth, Adam get his knee higher on the bed to compensate, both hands on the bed for balance and thrusting harder now, licking up Kris's spine and sucking at the base of his neck, hearing Kris whispering, "Take it, everything, take whatever you want," over and over until everything freezes and orgasm starts, sweeping him up in a wave that seems to start in his toes and crash upward, making him jerk convulsively. Dimly, he can hear Kris's startled "Oh!" at the feeling, but Adam is too overwhelmed to do anything about that, right now breathing is an effort.

Panting harshly, Adam lowers his shaking limbs down, putting most of his weight on Kris's back and welcoming the aftershocks that make him shiver, groping blindly for Kris's hand and making a grateful sound when Kris does it for him, lacing their fingers together and kissing his wrist. It takes a while, but eventually he stops feeling like he's going to fly apart. With a sigh he reaches down to grip the condom at the base of his cock, pulling out as gently as he can and murmuring soothing sounds when Kris's breath hisses.

His muscles are protesting every movement, but he forces himself up anyway, stumbling towards the bathroom to flush the condom and wipe himself down quickly, wincing when he accidentally sees himself in the mirror. His stage makeup is _wrecked_, body streaked in glitter and sweat, his mouth swollen and matching the color of the marks Kris's nails left in his shoulders. He feels _fantastic_.

"Adam?"

The cautiousness in Kris's voice makes him move quickly, grabbing another towel and dampening it before going back. Kris is wide eyed and uncharacteristically quiet, lying on his back and watching as Adam climbs into the bed and kisses him. "Hey, baby," Adam smiles, gently using the towel to clean Kris's thighs and cock with sure, even movements. There's something so sweet about doing this, almost innocent despite the cause, and the way Kris just lets him makes him bend down and kiss Kris's hipbone reverently. "How are you feeling?" he whispers against skin, working his way up Kris's body, placing slow, open mouthed kisses and feeling Kris shiver. When he gets to a shoulder, he keeps going, sliding up an arched neck and a sharp jaw line, stopping only to tease the corner of Kris's mouth with the tip of his tongue.

Kris slides arms and a leg around him, rubbing his calf against the back of Adam's legs and exhaling, smiling against Adam's mouth. "I think we've found something you can give me, anytime," he answers, closing his eyes. "I feel... I can't describe it."

"Try." It's fascinating seeing Kris like this, and Adam's heart kicks in his chest when he realizes that for all their closeness, this type of knowledge - the way Kris looks and moves after sex, the way he breathes and sighs and can't seems to stop touching; this is precious knowledge, something to be treated like it's made of glass. It's knowledge he never wants anyone else to have, it's bad enough to have to push aside his familiar jealousy of Katy. But the thought that anyone else would ever see Kris boneless and pliant and blissed out makes him want to do crazy things, makes him want to make promises and demand them in return.

Kris traces a finger along Adam's cheekbone and looks at him solemnly, and for a second Adam has the crazy suspicion that Kris is reading his mind, or that maybe what he's thinking is written into his expression. "I don't know what I feel," Kris says quietly, one corner of his mouth curling up. "I just know I don't want it to go away. Ever."

Adam kisses him softly, once, then again. "I don't, either," he admits, shifting them so that Kris is draped on his chest and he can stroke his back. "I still can't believe this is happening."

"Get used to it," Kris replies, and Adam can feel a smile. "I don't know what I have to say to convince you. You're being kinda stubborn, it's annoying." There's a beat, and when Adam doesn't say anything, Kris sighs, whispering, "It's okay. You'll figure it out, we've got time."

Three weeks, Adam thinks. Three weeks until they get to New York, the last stop and then back to L.A., out of one bubble and into a much larger one. It doesn't seem like enough time to get his mind wrapped around the problems that will never go away -- Kris has been divorced for less than a year, they haven't even begun to talk about what happens when the media figures it out, not to mention their PR teams, and-

"Stop thinking." Kris punctuates the thought with a poke in Adam's side. "Afterglow. Fucking with."

He can't help it, it makes him melt and shove aside his concerns, at least for now.

*

The days start to blur, as they tend to do at this point on any tour. Mornings are press that Kris now joins him for under the threat of dismemberment from Los Angeles, and Adam feels a distinct sense of déjà-vu from the old days -- early morning van trips to radio and television stations that all seem to have the same crappy coffee and tiny generic rooms, bouncing answers off Kris and trying entertain each other more than the audience.

He gets Kris good at a Boston radio station, when they're answering a question about what they can't live without on tour. Patiently waiting until Kris is done singing the praises of cold coke and his favorite guitar, he leans forward to say simply, "Handcuffs," and smiling. Kris laughs loudly and Adam tells the greater Boston area, "Fur lined, of course, you never want to be rude," as the morning D.J. presses a button that produces the sound of a whip that can't quite stifle the sounds of Kris's giggles.

In Philadelphia, they're on a television morning show at what feels like the crack of dawn, sitting on the world's most uncomfortable couch across from a blonde host in a cardigan, who keeps looking at Adam in a way that reminds him a Stepford wife, or hungry cat. It's kinda scary, and for the first time in his career Adam voluntarily brings up the AMA's and the Performance That Will Never Die, saying the word "gay" about five times in a row in desperation. The host declares, "Frankly, I thought the kiss was _very_ sexy," with a smile that's all teeth and in a voice that makes him unconsciously inch back.

Kris leans forward, blocking the host's view of Adam and saying earnestly, "My Mama did, too!" with fake surprise. "You guys are the same age, I think. Maybe there's something to that?"

Adam covers his eyes with one hand, laughter warring with horror and pleading, "Please say you're making that up," to Kris, who shrugs and sits back, looking at the host's frozen smile with something akin to satisfaction.

Afternoons are Kris's time to write, locked up in the bus and either overly grouchy or too pleased with himself, so Adam takes advantage of the time to goof off. Tommy wants a new tattoo, so they debate designs over hours spent at the picnic tables, which culminates in an argument about whether or not gothic font is cliché or classic, and Adam feels vindicated when Monte looks up from lunch one day and announces, "For fucks sake, Tommy, get it already if you want a prison tat," before rolling his eyes and going back for a second helping of salmon.

He goes out occasionally, shopping or to a spa if there's one around, but it's more hassle than it's worth sometimes, so he stays close to bus most of time, reading or listening to music that his friends email with regularity, all the bands in L.A. that haven't been signed yet and still hock their music through word of mouth. Most days, he takes a nap but rarely sleeps, instead drifting to the sounds of Kris in the front and silently weighing in on songs, thinking about melody lines and hooks and what he would change or keep. Eventually, Kris will come in and sit next to him to ask his opinion.

"Chord progression is off," Adam says one day, reaching over to lazily trace the seam in Kris's jeans. Kris is working on a tricky number, more complex than usual if judging by the amount of muttering he's heard for the last hour. "You're missing something." He thinks back, trying to remember the progression on that rock opera he did right after high school in that terrible dingy theater in Van Nuys. It was only memorable for the costumes they scrounged from thrift stores and the amount of drugs the cast amassed, but there was that number where the alto playing a headless mule did an amazing run in A major. "Try something like this," he says, singing the notes up to an F sharp in a triad, and Kris's face lights up as he replicates it on his guitar. After a few tries later, it clicks, and Kris leans down to kiss him in thanks.

"You rock," Kris says, pressing one more kiss into Adam's smiling mouth before going back into the other room to write the solution down. Adam hums in agreement and rolls over, burying his face in Kris's pillow.

Nights are, not unexpectedly, Adam's favorite part of the day, and when he gets dressed for a show he can feel the energy slip on with every garment, the anticipation of what the crowd will be like and whether or not tonight will be one that he remembers specifically or one that will fade into the larger memory of the tour. He can already barely remember anything about the first night in Boston, but the second night is one that will stay -- the crowd was amazing in that unpredictable luck of the draw kind of way, dancing and screaming to the point that Adam couldn't be tired with the constant, nearly alive feedback loop of energy. They did an impromptu addition of _Whole Lotta Love_, because that's exactly the mood every person in the hall was in, and Adam broke every rule, jumping into the audience to sing while getting pawed by fans who shouted lyrics with him. It was totally worth the lecture he got from security, an over anxious Kris, and then his mother, who saw it on online and called to make him swear he would never do such a thing again because he was going to put her in _an early grave_ and _listen to your security, mister_ and _do you want to end up with a missing limb, cause that's what's gonna happen!_

And when it's all over, when the crew is packing up and Adam's ears are ringing, Kris is there.

Sex with Kris, he thinks one night listening to the sounds of the shower, is a revelation. He's had sex, great sex, because heaven knows most his twenties have been karmic payback for being sixteen and constantly horny and having zero idea what the fuck to do about that. But this -- this is new. Brad was being in love for the first time and figuring it out together, what feels good and what doesn't and the memories can still make him ache with their sweetness. Drake was expertise and all about taking sex to an artistic level, sex as a _challenge_, and Adam knows he should be thankful it didn't continue long enough for that to do lasting damage. None of this prepared him for what it would be like to have Kris, except maybe in the way of giving him an understanding that it's different.

Reaching for his cock, half hard in anticipation already from being naked in their hotel bed, he closes his eyes and strokes himself lightly, thinking of the last weeks, the way his skin becomes hyper sensitive to the lightest touch of Kris's tongue, the scrape of fingernail, the graze of a curious guitar callus. The way everything feels twice as good when Kris is shaking under him, laughing or cursing when he comes. The way that Kris makes him want to _give_ more than take, and Adam hadn't known that was possible outside of love songs with terrible lyrics.

"Starting without me?" Adam can hear the smile in Kris's voice. Apparently the world's longest shower was finally over.

"Took too long," he complains, keeping his eyes closed and still letting his hand move lazily. A second later he can feel the bed dip, the feel of a shower humid body moving closer, and then his hand is brushed away, a wet and warm mouth covering the head of his cock. Arching up, Adam reaches down to grip the wet strands of Kris's hair to hold him in place, eyes firmly shut, wanting to feel everything.

*

They arrive in New York on a perfect summer day, timing the drive from Philadelphia so they pull up to the W Times Square at six in the morning. There's still a crowd waiting. "Baby, we're on," Adam calls impatiently to the back, putting on sunglasses because no fan deserves to see what his eyes look like on two hours of sleep.

"I'm here, I'm here," Kris answers, trotting to the front and grabbing the Sharpie Adam holds out with one hand while reaching for his guitar case with the other. "Let's go."

They get off the bus with Troy and Bobby in place, splitting to each side of fans and signing autographs while inching towards the hotel entrance. Adam can see Kris out his peripheral vision, stopping to take a picture with a group with his 'aw shucks, me?' expression and laughing at something one of the girls says. Kris leans over to say something back over the sound of crowd, and whatever it was must have been good, cause the girl squeals and claps, throwing her arms around Kris and having to get them pried off by Bobby.

"What did that fan say?" Adam asks casually once they're in the elevator going up to their room.

Kris slips his fingers through Adam's, leaning on him a little and yeah, a nap was in order. "She wanted to know if Kradam was real," he answers, shrugging. "I told her to wait and see."

Adam looks down at top of Kris's head and tries to remember that he actually loves this idiot. "I'm going to kill you one day," he says finally, as the elevator doors open.

"Probably not," Kris shrugs, tugging Adam off the elevator.

*

The phone call comes during lunch.

They're at Two Boots in Chelsea, which has been nice enough to close for an hour so they could eat pizza in peace. When Kris's phone rings, he give Adam a sigh to indicate it's business and answers with an cheerfully fake, "Hey, Mike, what's up?" After a few seconds, Kris straightens abruptly and Adam feels a sinking sensation in his stomach -- Kris had sent more songs into Jive that morning.

"The whole thing?" Kris asks slowly, catching Adam's eyes before sliding away, and that's not good. "That'll take months, I'm not sure-" Kris listens for a few more seconds before saying, "Okay, I hear what you're saying. No, of course I want it to work, it's just we've got three shows here and I can't think about this yet. I'll call you -- yeah, thanks, Mike, really. I'll call you soon." Kris ends the call and puts his phone back in his pocket, slouching down to his normal height before looking directly at Adam. "That was Mike," he says unnecessarily.

"And?"

"And...Ronnie Baldwin wants to produce my album."

Adam feels dizzy with relief. "Fuck, Kris. You scared the shit out of me. That's awesome!" Ronnie Baldwin was a serious old school producer who would be perfect for what Kris had written, his wheelhouse was stripped down singer songwriters. "Holy crap," Adam shakes his head, grinning because this is huge, actually, this was the type of thing that led to Grammys. "Why aren't you freaking out right now? I would be humping the table."

Kris smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "He wants to do it here, at his studio. Get the album out by Christmas."

Adam feels his face fall and his heart speed up simultaneously. Of course. Baldwin had a world famous studio in Queens, it makes sense, and Kris knows his schedule as well as he does by now -- Adam has three weeks off starting at the end of this week, then rehearsals and meetings in LA for the month long European leg of his tour. Calculating quickly, he does the math - by the time he gets back, Kris will still be in New York while he's in LA preparing to go back into the studio, and then Kris would have to go on a promo tour. It's not like he thought Kris would be able to be with him all the time, but fuck, that's most of the next year _gone_. With luck, they'd have maybe a few days here and there. Not enough.

Kris is watching him quietly, shredding his napkin between nervous fingers, and Adam pulls himself together enough to reach over and save it from complete mutilation. "Hey," he says seriously. "You know you have to do this."

"Yeah," Kris answers, staring at their hands.

Wrapping his fingers around Kris's wrist, he shakes him a little to get his attention, forcing a smile on his face. "Kristopher. _You have to do this_. It's Ronnie Baldwin, for fuck's sake!" After a beat Kris smiles back, a real one this time, and colored with relief.

"Ronnie Baldwin," Kris repeats, and Adam can see the news sink in finally, the way Kris's face breaks out in huge grin. "Oh my God, Adam."

"Now he gets it!" Adam calls to the empty restaurant, throwing his arms up in the air, forcibly ignoring his own disappointment, instead focusing on the sound Kris's disbelieving laughter.

*

They work the rope line that night, spending an hour outside the theater to sign autographs and take pictures, Adam doing his best pout with his arm slung around Kris for what seems like a thousand cameras. It's the least fun he's ever had, he thinks grimly, scrawling his name illegibly on a CD cover before thanking the fan again and turning to the next one. He wants to hit something or get very drunk, and luckily he's in place where the bars are open until four.

They end up at the Russian Vodka Room with everyone, twenty people crammed into the back room with giant bottles of ginger vodka on the table. Kris sits next to him in the booth, hand on Adam's thigh where it usually ends up, and Adam takes another shot and leans his head back for a second, thinking of the conversation that hadn't happened yet. _We'll figure it out,_ Kris had said anxiously in the cab ride back to the hotel, and they had agreed to let it go for the day, and Adam was going to need more vodka.

Reaching for the bottle, he sees a hand go ahead of him to slide it a few more inches out of his reach. He arches an eyebrow at Kris, who looks at him for a moment before grabbing the bottle and pouring the shot himself. Pushing it towards Adam, Kris says quietly, "That's your last one, we're leaving," and Adam shrugs his indifference before downing the shot.

Still, he starts his goodnights when Kris gets up from the table pointedly and calls the car, kissing everyone on the cheek and ignoring the concerned look he gets from Monte. Putting his sunglasses on and following Kris out, he gets into the car and slides to the end of the seat, staring out the window.

"You know, looking out of a tinted window with sunglasses on in the middle of the night might be the stupidest part of this hissy fit you're having." Adam doesn't answer, keeping his eyes on the window that yeah, he can't see much out of. Next to him, Kris sighs, and Adam keeps his lips tightly shut for the rest of drive.

The tension lasts in the elevator and follows them into the room, Adam marching into the bathroom and closing the door firmly, washing his make up off and brushing his teeth. He's stalling, he knows, but he's not quite ready to give up this mood yet.

When he comes out of the bathroom, Kris is sitting cross-legged on the bed, bottle of water in between his hands with a determined expression. Sighing, Adam climbs in to sit opposite of him, taking the water when offered. "Thanks," he says, drinking half the bottle in one shot before handing it back.

"Vodka gives you headaches," Kris shrugs. "Are you drunk?"

"Not even close, sadly," Adam answers regretfully, and something about that strikes them both as funny enough to smile at the other, and the tension drops down a notch.

Kris reaches for his hand, turning it over in his and tracing the tattoo with a fingertip. "I was gonna wait till we were back in L.A., till you saw us working in real life, but...thing is, I'm in love with you." Adam's hand jerks in shock, but Kris tightens his grip and looks up, saying it again, voice clear. "I love you. You might be the last person to figure that out."

"Kris," he says hoarsely, more shocked than he should be, but feeling it in Kris's touch is different from hearing it out loud and this either the worst or the best time to have played that card, because now he just wants to say it back.

"I've been waiting for you to realize that all this emotional room you've been giving me is stupid," Kris continues seriously. "I don't want room."

Adam swallows. "We're not going to be in the same time zone for months."

Kris lifts his chin a little, the familiar expression of stubbornness. "I don't care. You can stay here for a couple of weeks, I'll fly into whatever city you're in when I can. We'll have a couple of weeks off in December-"

"Which you use to see your _family_," Adam interrupts, pulling his hand back. "Are you mental?"

"I don't care," Kris repeats. "And you don't either. It's really simple, actually," he says, smiling, but his voice is shaky. "It's not easy, but it is simple. Do you want me long term or not? And keep in mind my Adam Lambert bullshit detector when you answer that."

"Of course I want you, I've _always_-" and he's cut off by an armful of Kris, who throws his arms around Adam's neck and crawls on his lap as if intending to stay. Adam can't breathe, but it's okay, and he closes his eyes, feeling the pulse beating too fast in Kris's neck.

Kris's hand holds him there, and presses a kiss to the top of Adam's ear, saying "Then fight for me, dumbass," almost angrily and pulling back to kiss him. Adam moans, grabbing at Kris with shaking hands, pushing him back down to the bed and covering him with his body, trying to show everything he feels, trying to do what Kris asks.

*

"Tell me about Katy," Adam says in the dark. He's tired, they both are after the last hour, but he can't quite shut off his head yet, and this may be the last piece of it.

"I wouldn't have left her," Kris starts after a second. Adam murmurs something unintelligible to encourage more, feeling relief at an answer and the warm puffs of Kris's breath against his collarbone. "I won't lie to you about that -- I would have stayed with her until I died. Somehow, that was a strike against me, too." Kris chokes on laugh. "She said that I would never have the courage to end things. That she had to do it, because I wouldn't. She was always stronger than me, I think."

Shifting a hand to Kris's hair, Adam wishes he could see his face. "You have different strengths," he answers softly. "Go on."

Kris takes a deep breath and Adam waits him out, patient. "Last year, while I was doing a show in Nashville. I cheated on her," he confesses hoarsely, and the fingers on Adams waist tighten. "There- there was a girl, she's an exec with the touring company, and one night... I don't know. I drank too much, I was tired, I missed Katy. There wasn't even a real reason, it was just a stupid, reckless mistake," and Kris's voice cracks a little. "So when I got home, I told her. It was...bad."

Adam can picture it, Katy doesn't hold back. And Kris would take it, standing still for his punishment, which probably only pissed Katy off more. They were alike in that way, and Adam silently hopes that he learns from this, too.

"That's when we started counseling, and we moved back to the house in Conway, but the deal we made was that I could only be gone for four nights a week. So I would go to LA or to a gig, and then fly back. And we went to our therapist twice a week, and church, and it was rough, because that's all we ever talked about, even when we weren't talking about it. I would be like 'what do you want for lunch' and she would say 'grilled cheese, but we're out of cheese' and it's like being back in high school, you know? Nothing was ever about grilled cheese."

"Yeah." That would have been, what, last July? Right around the time he was in Europe, doing television and radio shows and having no time to talk, and it makes Adam a little sick inside. "Why didn't you say something?"

"I told myself that you were busy." Kris says simply. "But the truth is that I was ashamed. I had failed, you know? Done the exact cliché thing... I mean, it was everything I wasn't supposed to be. Anyway, after a while, when it didn't get any better, I offered to quit."

"_Kris_."

Sighing, Kris rubs his cheek on Adam's chest, shifting position and swallowing. "That's when she said she wanted a divorce. And I didn't fight it, not at all," and the words speed up along with Adam's heart rate, "because I just thought to myself _thank God she didn't say yes_. Thank God that she didn't tell me to quit. I gave her up, Adam, I let my wife walk away because I'm selfish and I wanted my music and I didn't know I was capable of-"

"It's okay, baby, it's okay," Adam feels tears hit his chest, it makes him ache. "I understand. I do."

"No. You're honest, you're so much more honest than me, I'm a cheater and a liar-"

"I would never offer to give up my music-"

"You'd never have to," Kris whispers, and sounds so raw that Adam can't stand it anymore. Sitting up, he pulls Kris into his arms just as the dam breaks, and Kris cries hot leaky tears onto Adams neck, clutching his arms as Adam whispers meaningless comfort into his ear. It doesn't last long, but by the time Kris's sobbing eases into hitched breaths Adam is wrung out and knows that Kris must be too. Grabbing the edge of the sheet, he does his best to wipe Kris's face in the dark before easing him back down to the bed. Stroking fingers across his cheeks, he kisses him softly a few times before pulling back. "Thank you for telling me."

"You needed to know," Kris whispers. "I'm sorry it took so long."

"Me, too." Adam sighs, thinking of the months Kris has walked around feeling like this, and so much more of the last year makes sense in ways he should have been asking about sooner. "Kris, you fucked up, and you paid the consequences. Are you still calling your therapist?"

"My L.A. one." Pause. "When did I become a person who needs a therapist in two states?"

"Top 12 week, like the rest of us, I think," Adam responds wryly. "So is this the part where you tell me that you can't be trusted and you think you're going to cheat on me, too?"

"No." Kris's voice is flat, determined. "I swear, Adam, I would never started this if I thought that."

Adam exhales softly, relieved. "Good." Rolling on his back, Adam pulls Kris close. "Because if we're going to do this, you have to be sure, okay?"

"Do you..." Kris clears his thro7at. "Still trust me?"

He does. Maybe it's foolish, but he knows Kris too, and he's never seen him make a mistake twice. "I don't really have a choice, baby. I'm in with love you, too, and that's the way this works."

He feels Kris push the hair off his forehead with an unsteady hand, and a kiss under his jaw. Cupping his hand on Kris's neck, he holds him there, and it's a minute or two before he hears a sleepy whisper.

"Gonna miss you when you leave. Love you so much," Kris says, going slack before Adam can say it back.

*

The tour ends on a Saturday night at the Beacon Theater. Offstage, Adam feels an overwhelming love for his band when they end up in a group hug, clinging a little longer with each one than he normally does. They'll be back at work in a few weeks, but every time they end a tour, he still feels like he did at the end of music camp when he was a kid, happy to be going home and depressed at what he's leaving. It's multiplied by the way Kris is beside him, clutching at Monte's jacket and taking his usual head rubs from the older man -- Adam knows that the chances of he and Kris ever being able to tour like this again are tiny. He'll miss it.

A laughing Tommy jumps at him again, and Adam catches him easily, giving him a soft kiss and grinning back. "Love you, Tommy Joe," he says goofily, because he does. Keeping an arm around him, Adam reaches out for LG and drags him in too, and soon they're all in a tight circle again, Kris with them, and Adam already feels a sense of nostalgia, his heart constricting in his chest and so full of gratitude for these people who, between them all, made everything he ever wanted real.

*

It's muggy in Central Park, they have photogs and fans following them, neither being as discreet as they think. But security is keeping them a respectable distance back, and they have the deeply valued luxury of nothing to do, so Adam is pretty certain that the day is perfect. Or will be, if all goes right.

They talk about nothing important as they walk towards the 59th street exit; Adam tries to convince Kris that a day at Bliss Spa is practically required after the last months, Kris mentions going to a Yankee game. Just like it's been for the last week since the tour ended, it feels easy and familiar and good, a mood that stays even when Adam guides him into a high rise across from the park.

"Where are we going?" Kris asks, lazily looking around the lobby like he couldn't care less about the answer, but when Adam moves to the elevator, he feels Kris's glance turn curious.

"Adam?"

"Shh, baby, just wait," Adam says, punching in a code on the small keypad, the elevator dinging almost immediately. He sounds casual enough, but he feels a fluttering in his stomach and knows that Kris is going to pick up on it, and sure enough, Kris reaches to lace their fingers together and smile -- code for 'I'm game' and Adam feels himself relax at the expression of trust.

The elevator lets them off on the 35th floor, and Adam reaches in his pocket for the key that he's been carrying around since yesterday, dropped off at the hotel and waiting for him with a note from a realtor he'd never met. Using it on the only door in the hallway, he makes a gesture for Kris to go inside first before following and letting it close behind him with a quiet click. Leaning back against it, he looks around the apartment, bright sunshine coming in through a wall of windows on the park side, an open floor plan letting him see into the large kitchen and the sunken living space.

"You said you didn't want room," Adam begins slowly, and Kris turns to stare at him in frozen shock. "You asked me if I trust you, and you told me to fight for you. This is the answer to all of that, I think."

Kris blinks, breaking off the stare to look around, cataloging everything with wide eyes; the simple, large pieces of furniture, the throw blanket from the tour bus draped on the couch, Ted sitting in the corner that provides the most natural light. He was going to be forced to buy Lane a car when this was all said and done. Or maybe a Metrocard, if he could talk her into relocating for a while.

Kris swallows, looking back, and the hope in his eyes makes Adam breathless. "Is this...ours?" he asks hesitantly.

"I'm kind of sick of hotel rooms," Adam says, shoving the key back into his pocket and trying to gauge what Kris is thinking. "I didn't buy it, or anything, prices are ridiculous here, but it's a lease. A long term lease."

Kris is in his arms before he can blink, and Adam cups his neck with a shaky hand and pulls him in closer, relief coming over in him like a wave. He had known this was the right thing, but it didn't make giant leaps of faith any less terrifying.

"What about L.A.?" Kris asks, the sound muffled against Adam's neck. "What about-"

"It's all done," Adam cuts him off, feeling giddy at finally being able to say everything he's been working on, knowing he's babbling but unable to stop. "We're going to do everything from here, I can stay until Europe and after that we can stay here as long as you need to finish the album. They had some fits, and there're a lot of people who want to kill me, but it's done. This is home for now," he stops, taking a deep breath. "If you like that idea."

"I like," Kris answers quickly, voice thick, pulling back to look at him with a trembling smile and glistening eyes.

"Neil's probably going to want to move in, " Adam warns, because if Kris doesn't stop looking at him like that he's going to burst into hysterical tears at any second. "And we're going to have to go public. Oh, and I'm not going to be around when you tell your parents, I don't care what you bribe me with."

Kris lets out a watery giggle, going to his toes to kiss Adam softly. "Deal. Anything else, before I blow you right here?"

Adam takes a moment to think, trying to focus and wondering if Kris will let him stand by the windows so he can see the skyline during. Probably not. "Yes," he says finally, tracing Kris's lower lip with his thumb and ignoring the pounding of his own heart. "I should probably tell you that our friendship was over the day I figured out I could have you. So I think this is going to be have to be forever."

"Is that all you need from me?" Kris murmurs, kissing Adam's thumb where it rests against his smile. "Then yes."

End


End file.
